


you are the morning when it's clear

by sleeponrooftops



Series: shake it out [3]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Explicit Language, FOURTH WALL WHAT FOURTH WALL, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:24:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I like to count seconds with you and add them all up, see how much good time I’ve accumulated to remind me how much more amazing you are than every bad second I ever had before.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are the morning when it's clear

**Author's Note:**

> Notes —
> 
> i. Same rules apply as before. See previous fic for notes.
> 
> ii. I know the lyrics are originally by Robert Palmer, but I just love Florence’s version of it, and it reminds me of Wade a lot, realizing how deeply in love he is with Peter.
> 
> iii. There is, like, _no_ conflict in this. It’s honestly just Peter and Wade living together and being adorable and having a lot of sex, and I feel like they needed this after all the hell they went through in the last fic, so this is basically just boyfriends and fun.

_The lights are on, but you’re not home._

_Your mind is not your own._

_Your heart sweats, your body shakes._

_Another kiss is all it takes._

“So, today is our last day,” Violet Summers says as she sets a mug of tea down in front of Peter and Wade, “Are you excited to be done?”

 

“Yes,” they both say at the same time, and Peter looks over at Wade, smiling.  It’s been six months since they finally found their way back to each other.

 

“No offense, Miss Sweet Summers,” Wade says, fingers curling around his mug of tea, “But I ain’t one for brain pickin’, and spidey’s the only one I trust to be tappin’ in with his icepick, and woo _hoo_ , that sounded dirty.  Do you do the hearts washed in misery, drenched in gasoline smackers?  _Boom_ , lobotomized.”

 

Peter snorts into his tea, and Wade just smirks, leaning back in his seat.  “Yeah, I be excited,” he says, shrugging one shoulder, “Means me and the webhead are healed, right?”

 

“You were never broken,” Violet says, sipping her own tea, “You just needed a third party to help you sort out some issues that had arisen in your lives, but it’s nothing to consider something that needed to be healed, though you have come a long way since our first meeting.  Do you remember what you wanted to be able to accomplish then?”

 

“Communication,” Wade says, surprising both of them.  “Aw, Petey, don’t blush,” he teases, reaching over to pinch Peter, who smacks his hand away.

 

“Behave,” he says, so Wade licks his tea like a cat.  “He’s right, though,” Peter says, turning back to Violet, “We weren’t communicating enough, weren’t talking to each other about the things that were actually important or clarifying things that had happened and how we felt about them.”

 

“Also, the nightmares,” Wade says, not looking up from his tea.

 

“Yes, you both had personal goals, as well.  Can you elaborate on them a little?” Violet asks.

 

“Well,” Peter says, looking fondly over at Wade, who flashes him a brilliant smile, “Wade hasn’t had a nightmare in two months, and I haven’t had a panic attack in four months, though he’s been on several missions in that time.”

 

“Don’t forget the weapons,” Wade says.

 

“Why don’t you talk about the weapons, Wade?” Violet prompts.

 

Wade sighs dramatically and downs the rest of his tea before setting the mug down on the coffee table and saying, “They’re clean and stored away unless I need to use them, which is never in the house.  Rule number twenty-one.”

 

“Last I checked, we were at eighteen.  When did you establish the other three?”

 

“Nineteen,” Wade says, “We can’t be wastin’ our pretty asses on the sofa every day, and if three consecutive days find the asses with no iron mongerin’, then we be out poundin’ the ground.”

 

“The gym,” Peter clarifies, “Twenty, body parts are only to be sent in the case of an emergency.”

 

“Which is lame, because I like sending you my toes,” Wade grumbles.

 

Peter ignores him in favor of continuing, “And twenty-one, no weapons at home unless they’re being properly cleaned.”

 

“And you still think the rules system is a good one?” Violet asks.

 

Peter nods.  “It’s worked for the past almost four years, and we’ve talked about each of them in depth to make sure they’re appropriate.”

 

“Good to hear,” Violet says, smiling, “Now, what about your other goals?  How’s Florence?”

 

“Fantastic,” Peter says, “Her and Wade bonded instantly, and she’s great to have around when he’s on missions.”

 

“And the apartment hunting?”

 

“We’ve narrowed it down to three places, and it’s just a matter of deciding now.  We’re actually going to check out one of them again after this.”

 

“That’s excellent, boys,” Violet says, “You’ve come through a lot together, and you’re stronger for it.  In the face of so much—Wade leaving, Peter learning how to cope with his absences, Wade’s nightmares and tendency for violence, Peter’s insecurities concerning the team and Johnny, overcoming the resistance from both—you’ve still remained devoted to one another, and that shows a lot of courage.  I’m sad to see you go, boys, but I’m very happy to let you go.  Is there anything else you’d like to discuss before we part ways?”

 

Peter looks over at Wade, who shakes his head, so Peter turns back, smiling.  “I think we’re good,” he says, “Thank you so much, Violet.”

 

“Thank you for trusting me to listen,” she says, standing.

 

They say their goodbyes, lingering a little before Wade’s reaching for Peter’s hand, and then they head out.  They’re quiet until they reach the elevator, and then Peter shoves them against the wall, leaning up and pressing a hard kiss to Wade’s mouth.  Wade kisses back, hands sliding around to press in against the small of Peter’s back, holding him against him.  Peter starts to laugh halfway through, and he pulls away, dropping his head against Wade’s forehead.  “You okay, pipsqueak?” Wade asks, though he’s smiling widely.

 

“Pipsqueak my ass,” Peter mutters, turning his face into Wade’s neck, kissing his smile into his skin, “I love you is all.”

 

Wade pinches his butt and says, “I love you, too, cutie patoot.”

 

“Whatever, lame brain.”

 

“Oh, I like that one!  Ima steal it!”

 

“You are _not_!” Peter exclaims, fingers darting to his sides, and Wade shrieks, trying to squirm away, but Peter just tickles until the doors are dinging open, and he jumps away from Wade, grinning and sauntering away.  He knows it’s coming, can feel it in the hairs rising on the back of his neck, but he just braces for impact and laughs when Wade charges him, lets himself be manhandled until he’s being tossed behind Wade and dropping onto his back.  Peter clicks his heels into Wade’s sides, so Wade monkey pinches his ankle, so Peter whines and yanks off his baseball cap so he can bite his ear.

 

The guards give them strange looks as they make their way past them, but they always do, so they both ignore them and continue onward outside.  Peter drops Wade’s hat back on, rolling when he notices it has the Spiderman symbol printed across it.

 

“I’m gonna get a custom made shirt with your face on it,” Peter says.

 

“I dare you,” Wade says, so Peter digs out his phone and starts looking, his other arm looped lazily over Wade’s front.

 

Wade carries him until Peter’s legs are starting to ache, and he kicks at him until Wade tries to drop him, and he grabs onto his head, hauling himself up so that he’s perched on his shoulder.  Wade sags to one side a little, grunting.  “Fuckin’ moose,” Wade grumbles, so Peter jumps off, landing easily.  He wiggles his fingers behind him, waiting for Wade to catch up, and he laces their fingers together when he reaches him, tugging him off.

 

Peter doesn’t know how, but he doesn’t feel him coming, and suddenly, Wade’s mouth is next to his ear, and he whispers, “ _Spidey_.”

 

“Jesus fuck almighty!” Peter shouts, twitching away.

 

Wade cackles and presses a smacking kiss to his ear that makes Peter whine before he continues, “We should eat the foods tonight, spidey.”

 

“What kind of food?” Peter asks, rubbing his ear.

 

“Probably, like, _I don’t know_ —oh, goats.”

 

“Goats?”

 

“Spidey,” Wade says somberly, “Goats are fan-fuckin’-tastic.  _Did youuuuuuuuuu know_ that there are tons of countries who just love them goats, goin’ BAH BAH BAH, oh wait, that’s sheeps, lamps, whatever, or like that girl that just goes baaaaaah, she’s a funny duck.  _But_ ,” Wade says, squeezing Peter’s hand, “They’re so icky, spidey.  I’m a culture snob, right, I like to be playin’ around, toe-dippin’ in all the b-e-a-utiful things, like bam that’s an Asian, bam bam that’s an African, bam bam bam that’s an Australian, and I just love things that start with the letter a, like _assholes_ —aside, I love your asshole, Peter.”

 

“We’ve covered this, move on,” Peter says, grinning, “Goats.”

 

“Goats, spidey.  Old goat cheese, regular goat cheese, goat meat, goat balls, you name it, it’s all _gross_ , I don’t like none of it, spidey, no I ain’t, and you know who else don’t like it?”

 

“Mama?” Peter supplies, looking over at him and laughing when he puffs up.

 

“MAMA!” Wade huffs out, “Mama done said goats _is_ the devil, they just _is_ the devil, scrapin’ their hooves around with their beady little eyes, chasin’ after the little wankers—children, spidey, keep up—and climbin’ up on all those ridiculous places, like have you ever even seen a goat on a mountainside?  They’re about as splendiferous as nitrous oxide, and oh my cheese, spidey, all I want in life is to be constantly high, you know?  Just pumpin’ fluids in my brain, zoom zoom zoboomafoo.  I say, give me fluffy animals, or give me death, spidey!  I ain’t wantin’ none of them goats, just a little bit of a high dripped into my veins, get me goin’ real nice, and I’ll be dreamin’ about kitties or some shit.  I miss Flo,” he breaks off, frowning, “We should go home.”  Peter starts to respond, but then Wade sprints away from him, screaming, “LEMONADE STAND!”

 

Peter keeps walking, knowing Wade will catch up to him eventually.  When he does, he presses a bottle of lemonade into Peter’s hands and says, “Spidey, it wasn’t a lemonade stand, it was a crack deal, _but_ , then I found lemonade, so we’re all good.  I paid, stop looking at me like I urinated in your lemonade bottle.  You know what, them fakers, I hate fakers, spidey, I hate them so much, putting food coloring in their damn drinks, makin’ it all nasty tastin’, like, the fuck’s wrong with you?  Pink is for tulips and lady parts and flamingos, and that’s just it, no more, no less, not fuckin’ wanting it anywhere else, I say, I _say_ , spidey.”

 

“I hear you, loud and clear,” Peter says before taking a sip of his lemonade.

 

“Is it strong?” Wade asks, “I urinated in it.”

 

Peter spits it at him, and Wade just makes a wild face and runs away again.  Peter rolls his eyes, but follows him, laughing when he hears Wade singing about goats up ahead, loudly and badly.  People grumble at him as they go by, but Peter just laughs harder when he sees him, hanging onto a telephone post, spinning around it.

 

Peter clears his throat, and then, in his highest voice possible, yells, “Oh my god, it’s Deadpool!”  Wade promptly falls off the post and into the street, and he starts swearing and kicking at things until Peter steals his hat, and he lunges at him, tackling him in a bear hug and lifting him off his feet.

 

“Stranger danger!” Wade yelps before he licks Peter’s cheek.

 

“You’re gross,” Peter groans, pushing him away and tossing his hat back, “Settle down, we’re almost at the apartment.”

 

“ _You’re_ an apartment,” Wade mutters, though he tucks his hat back on and sidles up next to Peter, stealing his lemonade as he loops an arm around his shoulder, dropping a kiss on his mess of hair before he uncaps the bottle.

 

——

 

They’re just coming out of the apartment when Wade sighs and says, “No?”

 

“I don’t like any of them,” Peter admits.

 

Wade reaches up, fidgeting with his hat, before he says, “Then maybe we’re looking in the wrong neighborhood.  Maybe we need to get out of Queens, or just on the other side.  Look, idea brains.”  He gives Peter a shove in the direction of an alley, smacks him when he whines, and loops an arm around him.  “Web us somewhere.  Don’t think, just go.”

 

Peter smirks and says, “It’s better when I’m up high.  I hate getting off the ground.”

 

Wade shrugs, gives Peter another shove so he stumbles away, and then he jumps, yelling, “Brace for impact!”  Peter groans but does as he’s told, muscles tightening until Wade lands on his back.  “Up we go, sir spidey!”  He clicks his heels into Peter’s side, so Peter mocks at dropping him, Wade shrieks, and then he starts climbing.

 

Wade chatters the whole way up, and Peter’s in stitches by the time he reaches the roof.  He adjusts Wade, makes sure he’s comfortable, and then says, “Yippie-kay-yay, motherfucker!” before he jumps off the building.

 

Wade screams loudly, Peter lets them soar toward the ground for longer than necessary just to scare him a little, and then they’re sailing through New York, webbing their way through Queens, and it feels good to just be out without a destination, to just _go_.

 

“Spidey!” Wade yelps some time later, and Peter carefully drops them onto a nearby roof.  “This is it,” Wade says, clambering off of him, “This is totally it, I am a _genius_ , webhead!  Come on!”

 

He’s already off and running toward the roof door, so Peter jogs after him, smiling when Wade holds open the door for him.  They make their way through the building until they reach the landlord’s door, and Wade knocks loudly, humming to himself.  “Shut up,” he says when Peter tries to tell him to calm down.  When the door opens, Wade smiles sweetly and says, “Oh good, you’re old.  Is there an apartment for rent in this building?”

 

The old lady glares at him for a long moment before she says, “Yeah, what of it, asshole?”

 

“Oh, I like her,” Wade says, flapping a hand at Peter.

 

“We’d like to see it,” Peter says, rolling his eyes at Wade.

 

“Fuck off,” she mutters, slamming the door.

 

“Wade,” Peter says, “I am not living with a landlord that acts like you.”

 

“Oi!” Wade says, turning to him, “Offensive!”

 

“Your existence is offensive.  Come on.”

 

He starts to walk away when the door opens again, revealing a tall, handsome man.  He has neatly styled brown hair and brilliant green eyes, with a strong, bearded jaw, and broad shoulders.  “I’m so sorry,” he says, flashing an apologetic smile, “She’s not usually coherent enough to answer the door.  How can I help you?”

 

“Damn it,” Wade says, letting out a heavy breath, “You are—”

 

“We’re interested in the apartment for rent,” Peter cuts him off, elbowing him in the side.

 

“Really?” the man says, eyes going a little wide, “I’ve been having so much trouble getting anyone in to see it because they keep encountering my grandmother.  Let me just grab the keys, and I’ll take you right up.”

 

He smiles again before disappearing back into the apartment, and Wade smacks Peter.  “Spidey, he’s _fine_.”

 

“Shit yeah,” Peter says, trying to peer into the apartment.

 

“I’d scrape that ass right off him, _mhm_ , yum it all up for myself, shake that milkshake,” Wade mutters, and Peter groans.

 

“Stop it, just _stop it_.”

 

“Oh, I’m gonna be second hand lusting you later.”

 

“No,” Peter says, hitting his chest, “I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”

 

“ _Booooooring_ ,” Wade says loudly, getting in Peter’s face, so Peter darts forward and licks his cheek.  Wade shrieks and flails back in time for the landlord to return.

 

“Sorry about him,” Peter says, “He’s being a child today.”

 

“Child,” Wade snorts, “More like—”

 

“Tomorrow night, too,” Peter threatens, so Wade claps a hand over his mouth.

 

“Right this way, then,” the landlord said, leading them toward the stairs, “It’s a relatively small building.  We only have five floors and only two apartments to each floor, and there’s no elevator, but it’s a quiet neighborhood, and the lofts are amazing.”

 

“The lofts?” Peter repeats, “Oh, we—”

 

“Be quiet,” Wade mutters, pinching him, and Peter jumps, glaring at him.

 

They make their way up to the third floor, the landlord opens the door on the left, and says, “I’ll let you look around.  I’ll just be downstairs if you have any questions.”

 

“Thank you,” Peter says, leading the way in.  As soon as the door is closed behind them, he turns around, shaking his head.  “I don’t want to look,” he says, “Wade, we can’t afford it, we can barely afford the ones we’ve been looking at.”

 

“Will you just—come on,” Wade says, herding him in toward the apartment, “Just trust me, asslamp.”

 

Peter sighs and lets Wade turn him around, and then really wishes he hadn’t because _this is it_.  They’ve been apartment shopping for the past three months, after they finally decided they wanted a place of their own, and they’ve both been off about every single one until this.

 

The front door opens into a small room with a closet across from it, and, as they step inside, the rest of the loft apartment is revealed.  It’s bare, all of its furnishings removed, but it’s massive, with a high ceiling, the far wall made entirely of windows so that they entire place is filled with sunlight.  To the left is a long island next to a kitchen, and they walk through the open space at the right, looking around.  At the back, bookshelves line the far wall, though two doorways open up in the middle to two spacious rooms.  There’s a wide ladder between them, sloping up toward the loft, which extends back to the windowed wall and stretches out on either side.  Peter turns in the center of the apartment, gaping as he sees the rest of it.  On the wall opposite the loft, there are stairs leading up onto the second floor, where a bedroom with sliding doors lies, as well as a hallway that leads over to the bathroom and a smaller guest room.

 

“Wade,” he says, looking over at him and smiling when he finds him out on the terrace that attaches to the loft.  He climbs the ladder, padding across the loft to the open door, and he joins him, stepping around him and putting his back against Wade’s chest, leaning his head back when Wade curls his arms around him.

 

“Is this it, or is this it?” he asks.

 

“We don’t have the money,” Peter mumbles, already trying to stamp down the rising swell of sorrow at having to leave this place behind.

 

“We do,” Wade whispers, leaning down to kiss his ear.

 

“No, we don’t,” Peter says, pulling away and looking up at him.

 

Wade shrugs one shoulder, his grin a little crooked.  “I been saving up, spidey,” he says, giving his arm a punch, “Snatched some blood money and put it in a sock in my drawer, you ain’t even noticed.”

 

“You’ve been saving up for—for this?” he asks, not daring to believe it.

 

“Sure thing, cowboy,” Wade says, winking, “Knew you’d be wantin’ some place nicer than all the trash we been lookin’ at, and hey, so do I, so I took my moneys and tucked them away.  How’s that for prostitution?”

 

“Wade,” Peter lets out, reaching for him, “I love you.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Wade says, leaning down to kiss him.  He presses against Peter, lets warmth flood through him as he holds him, and then, when they part, he says, “I love you, too, Peter.”

 

_You can’t sleep, you can’t eat._

_There’s no doubt, you’re in deep._

_Your throat is tight, you can’t breathe._

_Another kiss is all you need._

 

“Hey man,” Johnny says when Peter opens the door, “I can’t believe you’re really moving.”

 

“I know,” Peter says, coming out of his room with another box, “May’s all up in a tizzy about it.  Did you make sure to pack this?  Do you have enough of that?  What about this?  Do you need any help with that and this and _oh my god_ , Aunt May, I’m _fine_.  I told her I’ve got you and Harry, but she just won’t listen.  Speaking of, I thought you were coming with him.”

 

“Dickhead got caught up at Oscorp,” Johnny says, looking around, “Where’s Wade?”

 

“Work,” Peter says, and Johnny nods, not saying anything more.  They haven’t really gotten past civil acquaintances, but he’s doing his best to be there for Peter.  “I still can’t believe he paid for everything.”

 

“He did?” Johnny says, surprised.

 

“Yeah, we got the place because of him, probably will be able to keep it because of him, too.  I coerced him into opening a joint back account, so all our money’s going in one place.”

 

“Dude, you’re married,” Johnny says, staring at him.

 

“I would hope so,” Peter says on his way back into his room, “We’ve been together for nearly four years, it’s about time we started acting like it.  Alright, that’s the last one, but no Harry.”  Peter dumps the last box on top of a stack, hands coming up to settle on his hips.

 

“I still have the truck,” Johnny says, lifting a pair of keys out of his pocket, “Come on.”

 

And so they start moving Peter out, shoving as many boxes into the elevator as they can before they head down.  Peter very rarely uses the elevator, and so he gets a little itchy after a while, just wanting to be done.  He’s sitting on top of a stack of boxes, taking a small break, when his phone starts buzzing, and he fishes it out, smiling when he sees Wade’s sleepy face.

 

“Hey babe,” he answers, “I was just thinking about you.”

 

“A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes,” Wade sings softly, “I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it’s left me blind.”  Peter’s smile widens, and he pulls his knees up, leaning his head against them as he continues on, “The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out.  You left me in the dark, no dawn, no day, I’m always in this twilight, in the shadow of your heart.  And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat.  I tried to find the sound, but then it stopped, and I was in the darkness, so darkness I became.”  He drifts off, and Peter remains silent, just listening to him breathe until Wade says, “A week is too long away from you.  I want to come home.”

 

“How’s the job?” Peter asks because anything else will make his eyes prick hotly with tears.

 

“A shit fucker,” Wade mutters, “It’s a lot of sitting around gathering intel, which I _hate_ , mind you, so I’m cleaning my katana for the fourth fuckin’ time, and then I’m gonna go find someone to stab.”

 

“Make sure they deserve it,” Peter says, “Why did they call you in so early if they didn’t have all the intel yet?”

 

Johnny comes out of the building, and Peter lifts his head as Wade says, “Fuck if I know.  They—what the balls?”

 

“What?”

 

“Move,” Johnny says, batting at his leg until Peter clambers off the boxes and drops back onto the sidewalk.  He tucks the phone between shoulder and ear and starts lifting boxes into the truck.

 

“There’s a—” but Wade drifts off again, and Peter frowns when he hears the soft shush of his katana being sheathed before a window is dragged open.  Moments pass in silence until Wade says, “Catch you on the flipside, cosmic lover,” and hangs up.

 

Peter shrugs and puts his phone away, and they finish loading up the truck before getting in.  Peter gives directions to the new apartment, and Johnny whistles when he sees the neighborhood they’re in.  “Man, this place is sick, isn’t it?  Good fuckin’ neighborhood, that’s for sure.”

 

“Wait until you see my landlord,” he says, grinning, and Johnny snorts, killing the engine before they get out.

 

Johnny bitches about the lack of elevator until Peter’s landlord, Daniel, hears them trudging up the stairs, and he comes out into the lobby, calling up, “Need any help?”

 

“There’s beer in it if you do!” Peter calls back down, and Daniel goes out to the truck.

 

Two hours later, they’ve got everything moved upstairs and piled in a heap in the center of the first floor.  It’s mostly boxes of varying sizes, but there’s some furniture, though Peter demanded they get rid of a lot because it was all cheap and old, just stuff he scraped barely enough money together to get, and he’s got enough saved that he thinks he can get them a new mattress and sofa easy enough.

 

When they’re finished, Johnny jumps up onto the island, holding out a hand, and Peter goes into the fridge, which they stocked before they started moving everything upstairs.  He hands a cold beer over to Johnny, sits one on the island for Daniel, and then cracks one open for himself.

 

“Thanks for the help, guys,” he says, lifting his bottle.

 

They lift theirs in cheers, and then they’re each taking long pulls, sighing afterward.  “So Peter,” Daniel says conversationally, “I don’t know much about you.”

 

“Yo, you this friendly with the other tenants?” Johnny teases, and Daniel laughs.

 

“Yes, actually,” he says, “Mrs. Manacker, on the fourth floor, just adopted her sixth cat, and—”

 

“Shit, Flo!” Peter and Johnny yell at the same time.

 

Johnny tosses the keys in the air, and Peter grabs them as he’s running around the island and toward the front door.  “His cat,” Johnny says, and Daniel nods.

 

“I didn’t know he had one,” Daniel admits, “Though I should have assumed.  They did ask about pets.  Speaking of, what do you know about Peter’s roommate?”

 

“Boyfriend,” Johnny clarifies, “I know, man, I get it.  He’s handsome as fuck.”

 

“Is it that obvious?” Daniel asks, and Johnny shrugs.

 

“I just know that look.  I’ve known Peter for years, wanted to bone him for most of that time, and then he went and met Wade.  They’ve been glued to the hip for the past seven years, dating for almost four.”

 

“Wow, really?  That’s—I didn’t—I didn’t expect that.”

 

“No one ever does.  They’re not much of a PDA couple unless you happen to have thin walls, and then it’s awful how loud they can be.”

 

Johnny looks over as Peter’s phone starts ringing, and he reaches for it, answering it without looking, and he realizes too late the mistake he’s made because then Wade’s saying, “Hey sugar cakes, sorry, some bitch was scurryin’ up a pole, hadda put the snick snick to use.”

 

“Wade, it’s Johnny,” he cuts him off.

 

“Hey man,” Wade says, his voice not changing, “The webhead all moved in yet?”

 

“Yeah, just finished.  He forgot Florence in the truck, though, so he ran back downstairs.  How’s the job?”

 

“Boring as fuck all,” Wade says, “Thanks for helping him, by the way.”

 

“It’s a pretty amazing place,” Johnny says, looking around.  Though this is a ridiculously bizarre conversation, he’s pleased that they can actually talk without swearing at each other.  “Ah, here he is,” Johnny says when the door opens again, and Peter comes through, Florence perched on his shoulder, tail wrapped around his neck.  “Wade,” he says, tossing the phone.

 

“Oh,” Peter says, surprised, “Thanks.  Hey, what’s up?”

 

“Sounds like you’re busy, snookums,” Wade says.

 

“I said no to snookums, pick a new one,” Peter says, going back over to his beer, “And yeah, I’ve got Johnny and Daniel here.  Can I call you later?”

 

“It’s Thursday, sweet cheeks, so whenever.  It’s your day.  _I like sweet cheeks_!” he yells when Peter takes a breath, “You have sweet freaking cheeks!  Let me have this one!”

 

“For now, cute patoot.  Be good, okay?”

 

“You shall never take me alive!” Wade hollers, and there’s the loud retort of a machine gun.

 

Peter whines, pulling the phone away as it echoes loudly in his ear.  He waits until Wade’s stopped, trying to ignore Daniel’s wide eyes at the noise, before he says, “You done, lame ass?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Hey, go shopping before I get back, mattress, sofa, all the shiznat.  And don’t you dare fuckin’ christen our bed without me.  I wanna fuck you as soon as I’m back, press you down into our new mattress and show you just how much I missed you, fill you up and break you down, sweet cheeks.”

 

“Goodbye, Wade,” he mutters, taking a sip of his beer.

 

“CAW CAW!” Wade screams, and Peter hangs up.

 

“Sorry,” he says, coming over to the island, “You were saying, Mrs. Manacker.”

 

“Fourth floor, six cats,” Daniel says, “And this is Florence?”

 

“Oh right,” Peter says, reaching up and taking Florence from his shoulder, dropping her on the island, “Say hi, Flo.”

 

She meows obediently, and Daniel smiles, reaching a hand forward for her to smell before he scratches lightly between her ears.  “Are you all done moving in?” Daniel asks.

 

“From the old apartment, yeah, but I still gotta do some shopping today.  Hey, are you still free all day?” he asks Johnny.

 

“Are we testing mattresses?  Dude, I’m gonna jump on all of them.”

 

“Duh, obviously,” Peter says, “Did Harry say when he’d be free?”

 

“I dunno, said he had a million and one meetings.”

 

“Loser,” Peter says, opening a message and texting him.  When he’s finished, he says, “Daniel, you should come out with us tonight.  Just burgers and beers, gonna be fun.”

 

Daniel shrugs, “Yeah, that sounds fun.  When?”

 

“Oh, I have no idea,” Peter says, “Dinnertime.  I can text you.”  He holds out his phone.  “Just drop your number in, and I’ll let you know.”

 

Daniel takes his phone as Johnny says, “So, landlord, how old are you?”

 

“Thirty-five,” Daniel says, glancing over at him.

 

“Shit, really?”

 

“Yeah, why?  How old are you?”  Daniel hands Peter’s phone back, who smiles and pockets it.

 

“Twenty-eight.  Petey’s only twenty-six, poor pipsqueak.”

 

“Ugh, Petey,” Peter says, leaning away when Johnny tries to nuggie him, “Worst nickname ever, don’t even.  And I’m turning twenty-seven next month, asshole.”

 

“Uh huh.  Your boy’s still robbing the cradle,” Johnny mutters, though he’s grinning.

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Peter groans, shoving Johnny so that he tumbles off the island, shrieking.  “He’s six years older than me, get over it.  How old was your last girlfriend?  That was a cradle rob, asswipe.  She was, what?  Forty?”

 

“Fuck off, we went on one date, and she didn’t tell me how old she was before we got there,” Johnny says, giving Peter a shove, “Alright, are we shopping or what?  I’m hungry, buy me food.”

 

“Later.  Mattress first.  It’s a priority,” he adds when Johnny starts to argue, “Come on, go get your car, I’m gonna web back to the apartment, get Wade’s bike.  I’ll call you later, yeah?” he says to Daniel.

 

“Better not flake out on us, man,” Johnny says, punching his shoulder, “Boys’ night, gonna be fun.”

 

He heads out, and Peter rolls his eyes before going over to his mound of boxes.  “You seem like you’ve known each other long,” Daniel says, turning to watch Peter.

 

“Forever,” Peter says, poking through until he finds Florence’s box, and then he yanks it out, dropping it to the floor and opening it up.  He throws one of her toys, and she’s goes flying off the island, chasing after it.  Peter smiles and throws another one before taking out her litter box.  “Met him in grade school, been friends ever since.  Same with Harry, who you’ll meet later.  He’s fun, despite being annoyingly busy all the time.”

 

“What’s he do that keeps him so busy?” Daniel asks.

 

“Oscorp Industries.”

 

“Harry _Osborn_ is your friend?”

 

“Yeah, I know, pretty cool.  Jesus fuck, that’s heavy,” he groans as he lifts the litter, bringing it over to the box, which he’s set on the other side of the fridge.  “Hey!” he calls, and Florence pokes her head out from one of the two rooms beneath the loft.  “Come here.”

 

She trots over, a small, stuffed mouse in her mouth, which she takes with her as she investigates the new litter box.  After a moment, she climbs in, paws around, and then pees.  Peter lets out a little cheer, Florence looks away from him, and he goes back to find the rest of her things, setting up her bowls next to the stove.

 

“I should probably get back downstairs to my grandmother,” Daniel says, “Thanks for the beer.  I’ll see you later.”

 

“Yeah, absolutely.  Thanks for helping me move in, man, I appreciate it.”

 

Daniel just smiles before he lets himself out, and then Peter stretches, scatters the rest of Florence’s toys, and then goes to find a sweatshirt because it gets chilly when he’s webbing, even in the heat of July.  It’s been a cloudy day, anyway, so it’s already cooler than usual, which he’s happy about.  He doesn’t hate the heat, but he prefers bundling up in layers, likes listening to Wade giggle about his hair after it’s been under a hat and try to steal his warmth, tucking his fingers in strange places until Peter’s giggling with him.

 

It takes him ten minutes to get to his old apartment, and he’s shivering a little when he finally drops down in the alley and goes off in search of Wade’s bike.  Johnny’s just parking when he pulls out onto the street, and he flaps a hand at him.  “I thought you were meeting me back at the loft,” he says.

 

“Figured this was easier,” Johnny says, hopping out of the truck, “Borrowed it from Ben.  You really think we could have fit a mattress on top of my car?”

 

“I need to take the bike over.  Beth started grumbling at me yesterday about it still being here.”

 

“She’s just pissed your ass is leaving.  Can’t you come back?” Johnny sighs, leaning against the truck.

 

“No,” Peter says, “I’m sorry.  I promised Wade I’d take it over for him.  Stay here if you want, I can web back.”

 

“No, I’ll follow you, might as well learn the route,” Johnny says, climbing back into the truck.

 

He follows Peter back to the loft, where Peter pulls into the small lot next to the building, and then he jogs over to the truck, getting into the passenger seat.  They go out furniture shopping first, and it’s nearly three when they finish.  Peter falls in love with the third mattress they try, a massive king that he rolls around on until Johnny starts making obnoxious noises and tickling him, so he falls to the floor with a thud, swearing loudly.  After, they poke around at different sofas, Peter sending Wade pictures until they both settle on a dark grey sectional, as well as a simple brown sofa.  Johnny starts whining about food then, so Peter pays, they load the mattress into the bed of the truck, roping it down with bungee cords, and then they go out for lunch, grabbing something quick before they’re heading back to the loft to drop off the mattress.  The sectional and sofa are being dropped off later in the week, so then Peter coerces Johnny into going shopping for curtains and food, and they head out again.

 

Though it’s been a while since it was just him and Johnny, Peter’s phone is burning a hole in his pocket, and he just wants to curl up on their new bed and call Wade, listen to him chatter on about why European dragons are better than Asian dragons—they’re over glorified serpents—and whisper that he loves him and wants him to come home so he can kiss him.  He pushes down the urge, though, leaves it for later so that it’ll explode out of him until he can practically hear Wade’s smile.

 

“Oh, just fucking call him already,” Johnny says when they’re in line for the deli meats.

 

“Just one text, I promise,” Peter says, already digging out his phone.  Johnny rolls his eyes, but shoves him, so Peter knows they’re okay.  He opens a new message and types out, _I love you so much, I miss you, I can’t wait until you’re home with me._

_I love you more than the stars,_ he gets back a few minutes later, and then he can’t stop smiling.

——

 

Dinner is fantastic.  They go out for burgers and beer and end up having a grand time, plying Harry with drinks until he’s giggling and hiccupping, and Johnny and Peter just roar with laughter and regale Daniel with stories from college.  They get to know him, as well, asking a dozen different questions until they’re all chattering back and forth.  They’re out late, and it’s just after midnight when they finally stumble out into the night, arms looped around each other.

 

When they get to their cars, Johnny taking Harry and Daniel taking Peter, they linger, saying their goodbyes until Harry’s yawning and slumping against Johnny, and then they part.  “Thanks for the ride, by the way,” Peter says when they’re on their way back to their building.

 

“No problem,” Daniel says, flashing him a smile, “Do you have a car?”

 

“Wade has a motorcycle, but I board and take the subway, so no.”

 

“Board?”

 

“Skateboard, longboard, whatever I can get my hands on, really.  Shit, I still gotta unpack,” he adds with a groan, head tipping back, “That’s gonna suck.”

 

“Why not just wait until tomorrow?”

 

“No, it’s still early, and I promised Wade I’d call him tonight.”

 

“It’s after midnight,” Daniel says, glancing over at him.  Peter shrugs.  “What does he do?” Daniel asks.

 

“Uh,” Peter says, trying to think of a reasonable answer.  He scrubs a hand through his head, shrugs his shoulders up and down, and says, “He’s a—uh, a curator.  He—collects things for other people.”

 

“Guess all the traveling makes sense, then,” Daniel says, nodding, “And what about you?”

 

“I work for the Daily Bugle.”

 

“Yeah, you take those pictures of Spiderman, right?”

 

“That would be me, yeah,” Peter says, turning his gaze out the window, “What about you?  Anything besides being a landlord?”

 

“Kind of boring,” Daniel says, “But I’m a dentist.”

 

“Not boring,” Peter says, “Though I’m not particularly fond of people sticking things in my mouth.”  Daniel pulls into the lot, parking, and, as they get out, Peter inhales deeply and sighs.  “I love that smell,” he says softly.

 

“The ocean?”

 

“There’s nothing better.”

 

They head inside together, and Peter says goodnight to Daniel before he heads for the stairs, fishing his phone out and dialing Wade.  “Spidey!” Wade shrieks when he answers, “You got my favorite booty!”

 

Peter laughs, “Yeah I do.  How was your day?”

 

“Oh em gee, spidey, _oh em gee_.  I killed a lady, and she was stanky.  I did _not_ enjoy her company whatsoever, and I am glad to be rid of her icky, slimy, goopiness.”

 

“Goopiness, really?”

 

“She was _goopy_ , spidey, absolutely _goopy_.  Kept creepin’ up behind me, pokin’ me with her nasty little knives, so I said, you know what, you heinous, spiteful little cretin, I am _done with you_!  So I broke her, stuck my katana in and swoop, all gone.  Just like that witch, you remember her?  Ugh, she was so gross, slipping away like that.”

 

“Okay, that’s disgusting, stop it,” Peter says, fishing for his keys as he starts up the last flight of stairs.

 

“Well, have I ever told you about the missionaries?  _Spidey_ , the missionaries, okay, don’t ever listen to them, you know why?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because they’re fuckin’ _boring_.  Walkin’ around, oh, our Lord and savior, Jesus Christ, here he comes, and they can’t even recognize that he wasn’t fuckin’ white, goddamn posers.  But missionary sex, spidey, now that’s a whole other thing in and of itself.  Put a woman on her back, and she gone stretch her legs til kingdom come.  Put spidey on his back, and he gone do just the same, I seen it, spidey, I witnessed it firsthand, and it’s beautiful, let me tell you.  Put anyone on their back, and bam, there they go, limbs a flailing, missionaries going crazy, it’s good, webhead, it’s good, even if the Nazis thought it was boring, and _wait_ , no, we are not going to piss off Captain America, not today, no sir, no how, and hey, did you hear about his boyfriend come back from the dead?  Craziest shit I ever heard, man, and I been spending all day with missionaries.  The Amish, spidey, they are all boring as fuck, and they don’t like me, and I’m just like, hey-o, I’m just a bundle of teeth and pink painted nails, why won’t you like me, mother _fuckers_.  I bet you they do.  WHAT—” he yelps, and Peter jumps, “—was that noise?”

 

“I opened the door, calm down.”

 

“Oh my cheese, spidey, how is it?”

 

“Amazing,” Peter says, grinning, “You’re going to love it.  Hey baby,” he adds when Florence comes skittering across the floor, slipping and crashing into his feet.  He laughs, kneeling down and picking her up, nuzzling her against his face before setting her down on his shoulder, “Hey, I’m gonna find one of the earphones Tony gave me so I can talk while unpacking, okay?  Hang on for a bit, keep talking, just do it loudly.”

 

He puts him on speaker, sets his phone down on the counter, and then starts digging through the boxes, looking for his electronics one.

 

“So I’ve got all this free time, motherfuckers, and I was watching this documentary, right, and missionaries are like piranhas, spidey, they’re just chompin’ at the bit, here we go, gonna strip you down, melt the flesh right off you unless you’re kissing the ground or some shit, oh, here he comes, our Lord and savior, Jesus H. Christ, hi ho, the merriest die first.  And piranhas, they’re like the little blades on fans, just whip, whip, whip, snatch yo fingers off before you can yodel, that shit _hurts_.  I stuck my hand in a fan one time—no, lies, Wilson, daddy stuck it in.  We was playin’ the clap game, right.  _Clap_.  Where are you, Wade?  _Clap_.  Come out, Wade.  _Clap._ Don’t hide from daddy, Wade.  _Clap_.  I just want to show you how much I love you, Wade.  _Clap_.  Shush, Wade, don’t cry.  _Clap_.  Fuckin’ belts, you know?  Stuck my hand right in the fan, said if I cried he was going to clap me real good, bare hand on my bare ass, and spidey, that’s when I decided spanking was no fun, you know?  Fuckin’ belts.  But the fan, the poor fan, got all Wade bits on his blades, little danglies of finger skin and oozing slimy blood and shit, it was gnarly.  Ima stick a missionary in a fan, one of them industrial ones.  I am so _bored_ , Peter.”

 

“Still not enough intel?” he asks, frowning as he keeps sifting.

 

“Ima up my ante, that’s what I’ll do.  Hang on, lemme give them a cutie call.”

 

“Courtesy call.”

 

“Chlamydia, right.”

 

Wade drifts off, and Peter realizes belatedly that he’s just conferenced in while he’s still on the phone with Peter because then he hears, “Deadpool.  We told you not to call this number again.”

 

“Listen, _fuckwad_ ,” Wade says, and his voice is low and dangerous in a way Peter’s only heard when he’s raw at the edges, when he’s tearing apart, his fingernails biting into muscle, his mouth a searing, hot mess on Peter’s skin, and he looks over at the phone sharply, his dick twitching in his jeans.  “You hired a fucking mercenary, not a playboy to sit around and look pretty.  Every additional fucking six hours just became five grand, or I’m bailin’ on your ass.”

 

“We are—”

 

“I don’t give a shit who you are.  Five grand.”

 

“You were hired to stay on until needed,” the man on the other line says.

 

Wade laughs, this dark, terrible thing, and Peter closes his eyes, fingers curling into fists.  _Fuck_ , he misses him.  It’s been three weeks, and it feels like a lifetime.

 

“Mercenary,” Wade says, “The word originated somewhere between 1350 and 1400 and is defined as working or acting merely for money or other reward.  I am not your hound dog.  Five grand for every additional six hours, or you can kill rat face yourself.”

 

Peter laughs softly, shaking his head as he lifts another box, and then he nearly shouts when he sees _electronics_ written across the side, but he contains himself and instead does a little dance before hauling the box over to the island and setting it down.

 

“You know who it is?” comes the uncertain reply.

 

Wade sighs loudly.  “Of course I fuckin’ know who it is.  So, what’s the deal?  Five grand is a lot of chimichangas.”

 

There’s a long pause, in which Peter finds the earphone, taps it in, waits for it to connect to his phone, and then takes Wade off speaker, and then, “We’ll have your information ready in eight hours, with an extra five thousand.”

 

Wade hangs up on them and says, “Motherfucking Amish.”

 

“You are not working for the Amish,” Peter says, “I found the electronics box.”

 

“I’m not,” Wade says, “What are you wearing?  This isn’t a porn thing.”

 

“Well then,” Peter says, laughing, “Good to know.  Why?”

 

“So I can pretend I’m there.”

 

Peter smiles brightly and says, “High tops, shorts, and a green t-shirt.”

 

“God, I love your legs,” Wade sighs, “Those fuckin’ calves, man, they’re like these little, bulging mountains, and I just want to bite them, and your goddamn thighs, holy _hell_ , I could drown right there between them.  Oops, now I’m thinking about your dick.  Spidey, I am _aching_ to be inside you.”

 

“Not spidey,” Peter says as he starts sorting the boxes into different piles.

 

Wade groans softly, “ _Peter_.”

 

“Johnny called me Petey tonight, it was awful.”

 

Wade cackles, “ _Petey_!”

 

“Never.”

 

“Never ever, it makes me sound like a pedophile.  Hey, I talked to Johnny today, he was _not_ an asswiper.”

 

“Ass viper,” Peter says, and Wade snorts.

 

“Asthmatic windshields, right.  What are you doing right now?”

 

“Unpacking.  Sectioning—kitchen, living room, lab, bedroom.  Hey, do you want an armory?”

 

“Shit fucker, no way, really?”

 

“Well, we have four extra rooms since we’re making the loft our bedroom.  I was gonna take one of the rooms under the loft as my lab, but the guest room is out of the way, where no one would accidentally stumble upon it, so—”

 

“The lander asked what I did for a living, dinnit he?  Hot diggity damn, what did ya say?”

 

“The stupidest shit I’ve ever come up with,” Peter says, “That you were a curator.”

 

Wade laughs, loud and clear and so easily that it makes Peter grin.  “Wade Wilson, _curator_.  Specialties: random limbs, painfully beheaded skulls, and sometimes full bodies.  Make me business cards, damn it!  What about the main bedroom?”

 

“Oh, actually,” Peter says, “New idea.  Lab in the main bedroom, weights and yoga mat in one of the sunrooms, maybe a small dining room in the other?  Sounds good, can’t change it, already happening.  I want a hammock, also.”

 

“Where you gonna put a hammock, Petey?”

 

“ _No_!” he whines, kicking a box over to the kitchen section, “Do _not_ , ass viper.”

 

“Ancient titanoboas.  Dude, that documentary,” Wade says.

 

“You little shit, did you watch it without me?” Peter demands, stilling.  Wade is absolutely silent on the other line, though he starts laughing when Peter explodes, “You’re such a—a—”

 

“Yes, Petey?”

 

“Sloth!”

 

“No!” Wade shrieks, “They are ugly and stanky and _not fun_!  Also, I didn’t watch it.”

 

“Piss couch,” Peter mutters.

 

“Fuck train.”

 

“Asslamp.”

 

“Douche canoe.”

 

Peter snorts, “I like that one.  Jesus fuck, this bed is big.  Oh balls, why didn’t I ask Johnny for help getting it into the loft earlier.  Damn it.”

 

“How big?  _Spidey_ , how big?  Tell me you got a king, oh my god, I’m going to come in my fucking pants right the fuck now, _tell me you got a king_.”

 

“I got a king.”  Wade makes the most obscene noise, Peter actually stumbles.  “Well then,” he says.

 

“I am going to fuck you on every single second of that bed.”

 

“Inch.”

 

“What _ever_ , as long as you scream.  God, Peter, you know what I want?  _Fuck_.”

 

“What?” Peter asks, pulling the mattress up onto side and slowly inching it back toward the ladder.

 

“I wanna suck you off so bad,” Wade says, and it wasn’t what he was expecting, and he almost tips over under the mattress.

 

“What?” he says again, his breaths coming a little hard as he drags the mattress across the floor.

 

“I fucking love your cock in my mouth.  I love how you taste, heavy on my tongue, this scent that lingers there, and sometimes I can taste your come in my throat days later, _fuck_ , that’s the first thing I’m gonna do to you when I get back, wake you up with my tongue and memorize every minute of skin I can find.”

 

“Inch,” Peter says again, leaning the mattress against the ladder.

 

“I like to count seconds with you and add them all up, see how much good time I’ve accumulated to remind me how much more amazing you are than every bad second I ever had before.”

 

Peter stops breathing.  “Wade,” he whispers, “Come home.”

 

“In the morning, sunshine.”

 

Peter smiles so wide that his face hurts.  He takes a moment to listen to the shape of Wade’s soft, warm breaths before he says, “Azkaban.”

 

“No, Alcatraz,” Wade says, and then he’s off.  He tells Peter about the continued correspondence between Alcatraz and Azkaban, the different experiments they’ve been doing on the prisoners they managed to kidnap and hide when they were being emptied out, how they’re still communicating and plotting a conspiracy with Al-Qaeda and Arabians, and then he’s talking about the letter a again, and Peter just starts laughing.

 

They spend the night like that, going back and forth as Peter unpacks until four o’clock has rolled around, and Peter has yawned four times in two minutes.

 

“Go to sleep,” Wade says.

 

“I wish you were here,” Peter says, shucking off his shorts, “I want to curl around you and fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat filling my lungs.”

 

“You’re starting to sound like me,” Wade comments, laughing quietly.

 

“No, I just like to breathe you in and hold you inside, pretend there was never a second when you weren’t there because you’re my light, my never ending love.”

 

“Peter,” Wade says, and then he yawns, “Damn it, spidey, now I’m tired.”

 

“I bought new sheets,” Peter says as he pulls off his shirt and tumbles into bed.  Florence is already curled up on Wade’s pillow, so Peter leans over to kiss her before snuggling up under the blankets.  “They’re green and brown.”

 

“I want plants.  Can we have plants?”

 

“We’ll put them near the windows, on the loft, spread them out everywhere.  Fill the room until it’s Amazonian.”

 

“I wish I was there,” Wade mumbles, his voice a little muffled.  Peter turns on his side, stretching out a hand and rubbing his thumb against Wade’s side.

 

Miles and miles away, Wade smiles and does the same.

 

_You would like to think that you’re immune to the stuff._

_It’s closer to the truth to say you can’t get enough._

_You’re gonna have to face it,_

_You’re addicted to love._

 

Peter wakes up late the next morning, stretches languidly in the warm sun, which pours in through the massive windows.  He likes waking up like this, with so much sunlight, but he needs to hang up the curtains today—he has _so much_ to do today—though he just enjoys it for now, kicking the blankets away and just lying there soaking it in.

 

Eventually, he gets up to feed Florence and himself, and then he starts his day.  He digs out their shower things, goes to set everything up, washes quickly, and then pads across the apartment naked and up the ladder, going over to his dresser to the left.  He pulls on a pair of boxer briefs, a pair of shorts, towel dries his hair, and then gets to work.

 

He hooks up his speakers first, climbing up the walls and attaching them high into the corners.  He’s got them connected wirelessly, so he’s finished in a few minutes, and then he opens up a command on his laptop and lets music leak out through the apartment.  Once that’s done, he sets up his lab, webbing the boxes over to him so he doesn’t have to keep climbing up and down.  By the time he’s finished, his phone is ringing, and he goes to answer it, chatting briefly with the moving guys before he’s heading downstairs to let them into the building.  They bring the sectional and sofa up and set them up for him while he continues unpacking in the kitchen.

 

When they’re gone, he tests out the new furniture, bouncing around and sending Wade pictures.  He doesn’t get a response, but he’s supposed to be busy today, so he keeps working, unfazed.

 

Florence watches him warily when he hangs up the curtains, two dark brown ones as a base, hung to the side, and two dark green ones, a little sheer and taking up most of the middle.  They just barely brush the floor of the loft, but Peter pushes them to the sides because the windows are open, letting in the beautiful summer air.

 

By the time his stomach is grumbling for food again, the apartment is finished, and he looks around, hands on his hips, grinning.  “Looks good,” he says to Florence, who meows and pads over to her bowl, looking up at him imploringly.  “Yeah, yeah,” Peter says, going to get her food.

 

Later, as he’s drying off his dishes after washing them, there’s a knock on the door, and he calls for the person to come in.  The door opens, revealing Daniel, who’s holding a small bottle of whiskey.  “Figured I’d come see how far along you’d gotten in unpacking,” he says.

 

“All done,” Peter says, opening one of the cabinets for two tumblers, “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

 

Daniel takes a seat at the island on a stool, nodding as he looks around.  “Yeah, it looks amazing.  Oh, you—the last tenants just used the bedroom,” he says, gaze fixed on the loft.

 

“Yeah,” Peter says, shrugging, “I dunno, I like the windows, and I know Wade will, too.  He always used to climb in through my bedroom window because he hated climbing the stairs, so this’ll be easier for him.  So that sounded really creepy,” Peter adds, laughing, “He’s not, I promise.  Well, not once you get to know him.  _Well_.”

 

Daniel laughs, though it’s a little off.  “Sounds like a fun guy—I guess.”

 

“Yeah, he’s—he’s something.”

 

“When is he coming home?”

 

“Tonight, hopefully.  He’s been gone for almost a month, it sucks.”

 

“Wow,” Daniel says, looking at him in surprise, “Does that happen often?”

 

“Not too often, but it’s always for a long time when it does.”  He shrugs, taking a drink of his whiskey.  “I don’t mind,” he says, “Not anymore, at least.  It was an issue before, but we sorted things out.”

 

“Couples therapy?” Daniel tries to joke.

 

“Yeah, actually,” Peter says, his smile tight.

 

“Oh, Peter, I’m sorry,” Daniel says, “I didn’t mean to be rude.  I just—I dunno, I never thought it actually worked.  My parents tried it, but they still ended up getting a divorce.”

 

“Luckily, we’re not married yet,” Peter says.

 

“Yet?” Daniel repeats, and Peter looks down at his whiskey abruptly.

 

He’s never thought of that, never even let it be a possibility, but he has to admit, it would be amazing to be able to call Wade his _husband_.

 

Peter realizes he’s been quiet too long, and he quickly asks, “So, what about you, Daniel?  Got anyone in your life?”

 

“Not at the moment,” Daniel says, “Not really looking, either, though my grandmother keeps hounding me to do so.”

 

“What’s your poison?”

 

“Men.”

 

“Oh cool,” Peter says, smiling, “They are so much more fun, aren’t they?  I get along with Wade so much better than any of the women I’ve dated.”

 

“Have you dated many men?” Daniel asks.

 

“Just Wade.  I don’t really know what to consider whatever the hell Johnny and I were doing forever ago, but yeah.  It’s always just been Wade.  You?”

 

“All my life,” Daniel says, “Born and bred this way, though my grandmother vehemently tries to deny it.”

 

“Man, I’m sorry,” Peter says, “That sucks.”  Daniel just shrugs, dismissing it with a wave.

 

They spend the next couple hours like this, just talking and drinking until Peter’s yawning, a little buzzed and tired from a long day, so Daniel bids him goodnight and takes his whiskey back downstairs.  Peter takes another shower to get rid of the day’s work, and then he climbs up into the loft and dumps onto the futon to the right.  The TV sits on top of his dresser, two shelving units on either side acting as a makeshift entertainment center.  He likes that their bed is in the middle of the loft, but it sucks not having a wall on any side, so he’d had to get a futon to put up there so they could game more easily.

 

He pops in one now, tucks up with a blanket over his bare legs, his shorts tossed over toward his dresser, and plays _Call of Duty_ until the hours are waning by, and he needs to get to bed so he can wake up in time for his shift at the Bugle in the morning.  And so he stretches, shuts everything off, and climbs into bed with Florence, putting a leg over on Wade’s side so he can pretend he’s there.

 

Hours later, around three, Wade drops onto the terrace, grinning when he sees Peter asleep inside.  He jimmies the lock on window that acts as a door and carefully pushes it open, creeping inside.  He closes it and tiptoes past their bed to look out at the apartment.  It looks incredible, and he can’t wait to see it in the daylight, but he has more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.  He drops his duffel over by the dresser, which is heavy as _fuck_ and thuds when it hits the ground, but Peter doesn’t move, so Wade starts stripping out of his uniform, dumping weapons on the ground.

 

When he’s finally naked, he palms his dick, which is already hard and aching, just looking at Peter, the sheets slipped down past his shoulders, revealing the toned muscles of his back.  They don’t have a nightstand anymore, but there’s a drawer on one of the shelving units on either side of the dresser, and Wade pulls it open, grinning when he finds lube.

 

He drops down to his knees beside Peter and carefully takes one of his shoulders, turning him over.  Peter mumbles incoherently, head lolling to the side, and Wade leans down to press a kiss to his chest before he’s pulling the blankets down and mouthing down his front, pausing to bite lightly around one of his hipbones.  Peter’s breath rushes out when he kisses over to the other one and sucks a nasty bruise, but he remains asleep, though his cock starts to fill, pressing against Wade’s jaw, and his grin widens as he leaves his hip and instead presses lazy, wet kisses along his dick, letting it harden under his mouth until Peter’s moaning softly in his sleep, and then he takes him in his mouth, sucking at the head lightly before he’s swallowing him down.

 

He gives him three, long pulls, mouth tight and hot around him, before Peter’s gasping awake, hips twitching up toward Wade, who pulls away to tongue back to his balls and then kiss his thigh.  “Jesus, Wade,” Peter groans, one hand coming down to pat at his head until he finds his ear and tugs, “’Mere.”

 

Wade goes, and Peter meets him halfway, pushing up off the bed and drawing him down into a kiss, hot and fast and everything he’s been missing.  Peter slides a knee up as Wade licks into his mouth, groans when Peter scratches over the back of his neck, holding him close.  When they pull apart, Peter tries to speak, but Wade needs to kiss him again, and he fuses them back together, kisses him until they’re both a little breathless, and then Peter says, “I need you inside me.”

 

“Fuck, Peter,” Wade groans, flailing a hand back down for the lube.  He quickly uncaps it even as Peter legs stretches higher, calf rubbing along his side before his toes are brushing Wade’s ass.

 

“Wade,” he moans, arcing up toward him, “Please.  I need you.”

 

Wade slicks his fingers quickly, and he stretches him too fast, he knows, but Peter is begging him to hurry, to go faster, to fuck him, _please_ , and when he slides inside, it’s like coming home.  Peter lets out this high keen, nails digging into Wade’s neck and shoulder as Wade hides his face in his neck, trembling.

 

Peter’s foot taps against his side, and he throws an arm under it, pressing his knee in against his chest to give him a quick stretch before he’s looping it around his shoulder, and Peter shudders, ass tightening around Wade’s cock.

 

“Wade, _please_ ,” he pleads, shifting down toward him, trying to take him in deeper, “Fuck me.  God, I missed you, I—” but he breaks off with a soft cry when Wade pulls out and rolls back in, smooth and so familiar.

 

“Ten thousand words, and this is the first time we’re having sex, what the hell, spidey,” he mumbles, “The boxes are pissed as fuck.”

 

“Tell them to—to—fuck, Wade,” he gasps as Wade finds a rhythm, fucks into him slow and hard.

 

He’s not going to last long, not after so long away from him, and his cock is aching against his belly, his whole body coiled tight.

 

“Not yet, baby boy,” Wade murmurs, kissing his jaw, “I want you to come down my throat after.  Stay with me.”

 

“I wanna come so bad, Wade,” Peter whines, pulling his other leg up until Wade hooks it around his elbow, “I missed you so much, I—I—Jesus _fuck_.”

 

Wade lets out a quiet moan, kissing Peter silent as he shifts closer, presses in deeper, swallows down Peter’s building cry as he fucks him harder, hips slapping against his ass until he feels like he’s on fire.  God, it’s been so long, and he can already feel his orgasm trickling through him.  “ _Peter_ ,” he gasps as he leans their foreheads together, mouth open in a pant.

 

Peter’s nails scrape up over the base of his skull, and Wade groans, chasing the heat inside him as Peter’s toes curl, leg going high in the air.  “Wade— _Wade_ ,” he begs.

 

“Wait for me, wait for—fuck, Peter.”

 

Peter whines, shifting against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, trying to find some purchase that will distract him, and it does Wade in.  His hips get a little sharper, his breaths tearing out of him, Peter an obscene mess beneath him, his cock thick and leaking between them, and he wants all of him, wants to keep him right here forever.  Peter’s thigh tightens against his shoulder, body lifting further up off the bed, and Wade slides in and stills, surrounds his cock with Peter’s tight, hot ass, inhales sharply when he feels a low tug in his belly, and then he fucks into him quickly, kissing Peter _hard_ when he comes, a soft scream tripping out of him and dancing into Peter, who trembles beneath him, so close to the edge it hurts.

 

When Wade pulls away, Peter’s pushing at him.  “I need you, I need to come, Wade, _please_ ,” he gasps, and he’s still so tight that it’s making Wade’s head spin.  He slides out of him, groaning as Peter whines, fingers fisting in the sheets.  He takes his cock in his mouth, sucks him off quick and dirty, humming around him, and Peter comes with a scream, back bowing off the bed as Wade moans and swallows him down, lips tight around him.

 

“Wade, Wade, _fuck_ ,” Peter says, and he pulls off slowly, dropping back onto his heels with a gasp.

 

“Shit,” he says, and then Peter’s laughing, “Oi, fuck off, Petey.”

 

“That was incredible,” Peter says, kicking Wade, “Fuck, I’m tired.”

 

“Bone tired,” Wade says, punching his leg.

 

Peter whines pitifully, swatting at him.  “I have work in the morning,” he says, “Balls.”

 

“Call in sick,” Wade murmurs, crawling up toward him and kissing him softly.  He drops onto his side and curls his arms around Peter, kissing his mess of hair.  “I’m going to fuck you again in about an hour, and there’s nothing anyone can say about it.”

 

“Please,” Peter says, leaning up to bite his jaw, “I will go out of my mind if you don’t.”

 

And he does.  About forty minutes later, after Peter has drifted into a light sleep, Wade curls a hand around both their dicks, jerking them slowly until Peter’s shoving his shoulder until he tips over onto his back, and Wade grins when he slides to his knees on either side of him, opening his mouth when Peter presses his fingers to his lips.  He sucks them until they’re wet and shining, and then Peter stretches himself, one hand curled around Wade’s knee as he gasps, fingers in his ass.

 

He doesn’t waste time.  He rolls his hips a few, slow times, and then he’s picking up into a quick, brutal pace, ass slamming down into Wade’s lap as he fucks himself down onto his cock, Wade’s hand tight over his cock, jerking him in time.  Peter comes first, pressing back against Wade’s thighs as he drops down against him, coming in long stripes across Wade’s stomach, and it’s the way his ass flutters, clenching around him, that pulls Wade over, and he jerks up into Peter, head thudding back as he comes.

 

Later, it takes an hour and a half of Peter dozing and then waking up to trace Wade’s scars, Wade snoring softly until Peter’s thinking about how he tastes, and then he’s biting along his ribs until Wade grumbles at him, starts to swear obnoxiously, but then Peter’s licking over his half hard cock, and Wade just grins and tangles his fingers in Peter’s hair.  He lets him harden on his tongue, gives him as good as he’s ever gonna get until Wade’s panting, chattering on about the boxes and making less sense than usual, and then he pulls off, kisses him quiet, and says, “I want your tongue in my ass, and then I want you to fuck me on my hands and knees, show me just how much you missed me.  I want you to bruise me, leave your marks all over until I’m begging you to come,” and Wade sends Peter sprawling, throwing him over onto his front as he hurries to do as he’s told.

 

He spreads Peter’s ass and mouths down to his entrance, teases at it with his tongue until Peter’s whining, and then he slowly slides inside, groans at the heavy taste there, lips sealed tightly around him, and Peter sobs, grinding down into the mattress, his dick so fucking hard, and he just needs Wade inside of him, needs him to fuck him until he’s shaking.

 

Wade takes his time, stretches Peter with his tongue and fingers until he’s starting to split apart at the seams, and then he lifts up onto his knees, pulls Peter onto his, and he fucks him like the world is burning.

 

Peter blacks out when he comes this time, comes back to Wade still in his ass, but his forehead pressed against Peter’s spine, his breath rushing out over his skin.  “Wade,” he whispers.

 

“Quiet,” Wade mumbles, head rolling to the side so that his hot cheek is flush with Peter’s back.  He just needs to stay here for a moment longer, needs to hold them here, in this perfect second.

 

When he finally pulls back, Peter falls boneless to the bed, shaking, and Wade grabs his hand, pressing down against his wrist and palm as he points toward a crumpled shirt so that webs shoot out.  Peter laughs softly, and then Wade’s cleaning him up, tossing the shirt aside, and curling around him, tangling their legs together.  “I love you,” he presses the words into Peter’s shoulder.

 

“I love _you_ ,” Peter mumbles, lifting the hand resting against his chest to kiss it, and then he threads their fingers together and falls asleep.

 

He gets barely another two hours of sleep before his alarm is going off, and Peter groans, throwing a hand out to silence it.  “Stay here,” Wade murmurs sleepily into his hair.

 

“Can’t,” Peter says, “Work.”

 

Wade is quiet for a few moments, just holding him, and Peter is about to get up when he says, “Shower?”

 

“Yeah.  Sleep, though.  You had a long journey back.”

 

“Wanna fuck you,” Wade says, giving him a bleary smile.

 

Peter lets out a soft noise, hand sliding unbidden down to his groin, palming his sore dick.  “I’ll be late,” he says, but Wade already knows he’s won.

 

“I’ll be quick,” he says, stretching and groaning, “Promise.  I’ll make you breakfast after.  Come on, let me put my dick in your butt.”

 

Peter laughs loudly, shaking his head as he leans down to kiss him.  “Okay,” he says, “But quickly.”

 

“I was dreaming about you,” Wade says as he rolls over, revealing his hard cock, “Already ready.”

 

They mean to make it into the shower.  They barely make it to the first floor.  Wade won’t stop touching, hands leaving searing marks as he digs his fingers into Peter’s hips and mouths down the back of his neck, and then he’s darting down Peter’s spine, fingers sliding over the ridges, and Peter shouts when he slides a finger inside his ass, presses his other hand against his sternum.  “Wall,” Wade says before he bites his shoulder.  He stretches Peter standing in the middle of the apartment, Peter’s breaths hitching higher and higher until he’s pulling away and turning, bracing himself a second before Wade lifts him into the air, and he fucks him against the wall, pinning him there as he drops Peter down onto his cock.  It’s fast and hard and dirty.  Wade holds onto him tightly, Peter’s back rubbing against the wall as he slams inside him.  Peter’s head tips back against the wall, and Wade bites down his throat, sucks a bruise over his collarbone as Peter fists a hand around his own cock, pulls in time with Wade’s thrusts.

 

“ _God_ , spidey,” Wade groans when he pulls away from his chest and looks down at him, “Fuck, I love your cock, wanna watch you come and lick it off your belly after.”

 

“Fucking hell,” Peter gasps, legs tightening around Wade.

 

“That’s it, baby boy, ride my cock like it was made to be inside of you, fuck you so hard you’re thinking about my dick all day, until you can’t wait to get home and let me slide inside again, let me fuck you in half, let the world know you’re _mine_.”

 

“Wade,” Peter whines, and then he’s lifting his other hand to pull Wade forward, press their mouths together so he can muffle his cry when he comes, orgasm rolling through him like a tidal wave, and when he pulls back, struggling to come down as he pants, Wade fucks him hard, cock rubbing over his prostate until Peter’s letting out a soft, strained noise, and he says, “ _Wade_ , shit, I wanna feel you come inside me, I wanna ride your cock all day, I want to feel you all over me.  I fucking love your cock, so—fuck, so good, Wade, I need you to—” he breaks off as Wade slams him against the wall, forehead pressing against his shoulder as he shouts, hips slowing.

 

When he finally lets Peter down, he grabs him as Peter starts to sag, laughing.  “Little wobbly?” he teases, kissing him.

 

“My legs fucking hurt,” Peter grumbles when he pulls back and steps away.  He rubs his thighs and then pushes away from the wall, kisses Wade before he heads off for the bathroom, and Wade cackles at how he’s walking.

 

He goes over to the kitchen naked, rummaging around until he finds Florence’s food because she’s yelling at him, and he scoops her up before she can eat, making faces at her and cooing at her until she meows pitifully, and then he sets her back down, giving her a little push with his foot over toward her bowl.  He sets about making breakfast for them, omelets because he knows Peter’s going to make noise about being late and he’ll want to eat quickly.

 

Peter gets out as he’s finishing up, and he goes to dress before he dumps into a seat at the island, leaning over for a kiss before he starts eating.  They chat back and forth about plans for tonight, though, before long, Peter’s hurrying to grab his things, and Wade throws the dishes in the sink, yelling when Peter starts shouting for him to clean them.  “I’ll do it when I get back!”

 

“From _where_?  Do it now!”

 

“No!  I’m being petulant!”

  
“Wade, come on!  What are you doing?” he adds when Wade throws his backpack off the loft as he’s reaching for it.

 

“I’m taking you to work, but you’re being a butt.  Hang on,” he says when Peter starts to whine.  He dresses quickly, yanking on a pair of jeans as Peter tosses a royal blue shirt at him.  “Oh, yuck, colors,” Wade says, though he puts it on.

 

“It’s July,” Peter says when he starts to pull on a sweatshirt.

 

“Assholes like to stare,” he says as he reaches for his hat, “I’d rather be hot than whispered at.  Come on, you’re gonna be late,” he says before he jumps off the loft, ignoring the ladder.  Peter rolls his eyes and follows him, and they toe on their shoes before heading out the door, Peter’s board hooked onto his backpack.

 

“Let’s go out for dinner tonight,” Peter says as he grabs Wade’s shoulders and then jumps.

 

Wade hooks his arms under Peter’s knees, holding him up as he says, “Spidey, _tacos_.”

 

“No,” Peter says, tugging on his ear, “But Mexican, okay.  I wanna go to a restaurant, _come on_.”

 

“I’m gonna throw you over the banister, ah!” Wade shrieks, tilting them to the side.

 

“Ass viper,” Peter mutters, leaning down to bite his ear.

 

“Ooh, gettin’ frisky, might have to take you back upstairs and remind you who’s boss.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Peter says, rolling his eyes, “Says the guy who just came thinking about me on top, and—hey Daniel!” he breaks off when they reach the first floor.  He kicks until Wade drops him, and then he says, “Wade, you remember our landlord?”

 

“Nice to finally meet you as a tenant,” Daniel says, holding out a hand.

 

“Still fine as fuck,” Wade says, slapping his hand before he darts a punch at Peter, who dodges it, and then he runs screaming out of the building.

 

“Sorry,” Peter says, laughing, “He’s a wee bit energetic—all the time.”

 

“Yeah,” Daniel says slowly, staring after him, “Okay.  Uh, I’ll—see you around?”

 

“Yeah, of course.  Later!” Peter calls as he heads outside to where Wade’s just pulling around on his bike.

 

“Let’s go, sweet cheeks!” Wade yelps, and Peter just rolls his eyes and climbs onto the back of the bike, winding his arms around Wade and leaning up to kiss his jaw.  Wade grins, turning until he can reach Peter’s mouth, and he kisses him softly, enough that Peter’s smiling when he pulls away.

 

_You see the signs that you can’t read._

_You’re running at a different speed._

_Your heart beats double time._

_Another kiss, and you’ll be mine._

 

Wade’s at a red light when his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he digs it out, grinning when he sees Matt Murdock’s name.  “Hey Murdock, what’s up?” he answers as a car pulls up next to him.  He looks over when the engine rumbles, rolling his eyes at the pair of dickheads sneering over at him.

 

“In your neighborhood, figured I’d give you a call.”

 

“I moved recently, actually,” Wade says.

 

He lifts his other hand to flip the guys off when they call out, “Hey, freak!”

 

“Still in Queens?” Matt asks.

 

“Yeah.  Hit me up, ginger, I gotta go.”

 

He pockets his phone just before the light turns green, and he roars off, trying to put the dickheads behind him, but they’re still trailing him when he turns onto his street.  Wade sighs and pulls into the lot, grabs one of the guns he keeps on the bike, and turns.

 

“We know where you live now, asshole!” one of them shouts before the car goes puttering away.

 

He kills the engine on the bike and then sits there, drumming out a rhythm on his thigh as he waits.  Matt shows up ten minutes later, stick snapping against the ground before he lifts his attention to Wade and smiles.  “Been a while.”

 

“Couple months, yeah,” Wade says, pushing off the bike and coming over.  “How you been, man?”  He tries to dart forward, but Matt smacks his sneaking hand out of the air, and he swears, dancing away.  “Damn it, you little ninja,” he mutters, “Every fuckin’ time.”

 

“When did you move?” Matt asks, unfazed.

 

“Last week,” he says, leading the way.  Matt raps the stick against his ankle when Wade tries to jerk to a stop, and he whines, hopping on one foot comically.

 

“Stop it,” Matt says, and Wade just rolls his eyes, “Are you still living with Peter?”

 

“Don’t you know it, four eyes,” Wade says, “Comin’ up on four years this—something, I dunno.  What month is it?”

 

“July.”

 

“Shit, probably one of these summer months.  First time I done banged him was in a summer month.  Oh, you’re—hi, the lander, right?” Wade says as he steps into the small lobby.  He stares, mouth hanging open a little, and Daniel blinks back at him.  “I remember the old lady,” he says, flailing out a hand, and Matt smacks it away from him.

 

“I’ll be violent next time,” Matt says.

 

“You can’t possibly be her,” Wade says, eyes narrowing a little.

 

“Who the fuck is at the door, Danny?” a harsh voice shouts from inside the apartment, “Fuck off, door people!  We don’t want none of your business!”

 

“Hi, nanny!” Wade calls.

 

“Oh, the fucking fags are back!”

 

“Oh my,” Wade says, laying a hand across his chest, “How offensive.  Murdock, you should be offended.”

 

“I think she’s talking to you.  How many flights?”

 

“Three,” Wade says, turning and whipping the keys at him.  Matt snatches them out of the air, and Wade whines loudly.  “I hate you.  I hate you so much.”

 

“Whiskey?”

 

“Probably,” Wade says, shrugging as Matt goes by, “Spidey likes it strong sometimes.  He is _not_ a lightweight, and it’s fantastic.  Can keep that booty up drinkin’ all night long, and he’ll be crowin’ in the mornin’, love that little fucker.  I can _not_ remember your name, holy shit,” he says, turning back to Daniel.

 

“Daniel,” their landlord says, offering his hand for the second time that day, “You only left an hour ago.”

 

“Yeah, that’s like—eight trillion light years or something.  Barely remember my own name half the time, and don’t you know, mama used to say—”

 

“Don’t do it, Wade,” Matt says from the second floor.

 

“Mama done used to say that names are of vitality importance, and you know why?  Cos the devil is fearsome and likes to play tricks, and his little demon monkeys are all spewin’ about, I’m the devil, you’re the devil, everyone’s a devil!  But, really, the devil ain’t thick enough to be stamp stompin’ around pretendin’ every fuckin’ whore was a devil, you know?  So you gotta be sure of the names, right, because you’ve got Ba’al and Abaddon and Azazel and Moloch and Lilith and all them big bads all killin’ it, squish squash, and you gotta be sure of them names, you know, because you never know when the devil might be tryin’ to turn you a trick, and—hi nanny!” he exclaims when Daniel’s grandmother shows up in the doorway.

 

“Grandma,” Daniel says, trying to herd her back into the apartment.

 

“You,” she says, shaking a finger at Wade, “You.  I like you.”

 

“Oh my cheese,” he gasps, eyes going wide, “Really, nanny?”

 

“You listen to this young man,” she says, smacking Daniel, “He knows what he’s talking about.  Come here, young man, let me see you.  My eyesight is terrible.”

 

“So said the wolf, and what happened to Red,” Wade says as he comes over, extending a hand.  Nanny sets hers in his, smiling when he lifts it and kisses the back of her hand.  “A pleasure, madame.”

 

“Don’t be rude, take off your hat,” she commands when she takes back her hand.

 

Wade hesitates, and then sighs, pulling it off.  Daniel actually gasps quietly, but Wade just grits his teeth and ignores him.

 

“How handsome,” nanny says, her smile going soft, “You should come in for tea, dear.”

 

“Oh, nanny,” Wade says, “I would love to, tea is the warmth of the soul, but I gone got a friend upstairs waiting to be entertained.  He’s blind, you see, so he needs all the assistance possible, and—how!” he yelps when something pings off his head.  He stomps his foot, glaring up at where Matt’s laugh is echoing.  Wade mutters under his breath and then turns back to nanny, patting her shoulder lightly.  “Another time, perhaps, nanny?”

 

“Anytime, sweet child,” she says, smiling before she turns back into the apartment.

 

“Assholate,” Wade snaps at Daniel before he heads for the stairs, “Gasping in the presence of beauty is rude, or didn’t you know?”

 

“Wade,” Daniel tries to stop him.

 

“Keep your false niceties for the spidey, but try to hit on him again, and I’ll eat your heart.  Hey-o!” Wade shrieks before he climbs the stairs, leaving Daniel gaping in the lobby.

 

Upstairs, Matt’s let himself in and has poured a glass of whiskey for each of them.  He lifts his in cheers when Wade tries to sneak in, and Wade just starts swearing, using every known variation he can think of.  “Colorful,” Matt says when he comes over, “Your new place is lovely.”

 

“Yeah,” Wade says, looking around before he takes his glass and knocks it back before going over to the sectional and dumping down, sprawling out, “Peter loves it.”

 

“Do you?” Matt asks, coming over.

 

“I’m happy wherever we are as long as I’m with him.  He is my sun and stars, that kid is.  I love him to the freaking moon and back, Murdock.”

 

“Do you now?” Matt asks as he sits next to Wade, “I’m surprised.”

 

“Yeah, why’s that?”

 

“Well, last time I talked to you, you were still in couple’s therapy, and you were afraid you’d never get out.”

 

“Been clean for over a month now.  Me and the spidey worked things out, figured out all our kinks, and now we’re in it for the long haul, til death do us part, ain’t nothin’ gonna stand in our way.  Speakin’ of, hang tight, I was supposed to put something up for him that I picked up the other night.  Tell me about your lady, man, how’s she doin’?”

 

“Amazing,” Matt says, smiling, “We’re going out for dinner tonight, celebrating five years together.”

 

“Shit, and you’re here bummin’ with me?  Fuck off, man, go get ready for your special night.  Are you _ever_ going to propose to her?”

 

“Bought the ring last week.”

 

“Shut the fruit loops up,” Wade says as he kneels by his duffle, unzipping it, “Tonight, yo?”

 

“Tonight,” Matt says.

 

“Son of a bitch, look at you go, that’s fergilicious, man, I’m so happy for you.”

 

He pulls a massive hammock out of the duffle, grumbling about it being tangled, as Matt says, “Yeah, I’m—I’m nervous, actually.  I hope she says yes.”

 

“She loves you, four eyes, don’t worry.  She thinks you’re the bee’s knees.”

 

“I certainly hope so.  What are you hanging up?”  Wade pauses by his bag, grins, and hurls a knife through the air.  Matt actually _sighs_ and leans a little to the right, narrowly avoiding it.  “Better not come back down,” he warns.

 

“Ball sacks!” Wade shouts, stomping his foot before he lifts another knife.

 

“Wilson,” Matt says.

 

“Okay, fuck you, you can’t see, I don’t believe that shit.”

 

“You never have.  Hammock, from the smell.”

 

“Tosser,” Wade mutters as he drags one end over to the edge of the loft.  He hooks it up midway to the ceiling on the wall, makes sure it’s secure, and then frowns at the other end, trying to figure out how he’s going to attach it to the ceiling.  He knows it’s supposed to be horizontal, but Peter likes to be in strange positions when he sleeps, and he’s caught him upside in the corners before, so he figures he’ll like it at an angle.

 

“Jump,” Matt offers, and Wade shrugs, grabs the other end of the hammock, and then takes a running start before he jumps up, catching one of the beams in the crisscrossing ceiling.  He hooks it up to the intricate design the forms something that looks like plaid and then drops down into it, grinning when it rocks.

 

“Oh yeah, he’s gonna jizz himself over this,” Wade says, arms folding beneath his head.

 

“Wade,” Matt says, “There’s a reason I called.”

 

“Wanted to stare at my booty, I know.  Oh, that’s cruel, ginger, why would you make a blind joke?  I get it, man, your self-esteem has skyrocketed with the whole Daredevil thing, but really, take a chill pill.  Every once in a while, we—”

 

“Wade,” Matt says, and Wade looks over the edge of the hammock at him, “Will you be my best man?”

 

“Motherfuckin’ fuck yeah!” Wade shrieks, and then promptly falls out of the hammock when he flails.  Matt just laughs and shakes his head, and Wade lifts a fist in the air.  “I’m okay!  Celebratory drinks!”  But he doesn’t get up from the floor, instead staring up at the swinging hammock, wondering when Peter gets off work.

 

——

 

After Matt has left, Wade appropriates a car from a nearby lot and then heads for Home Depot, fiddling with the radio until something loud with obnoxious bass drops starts leaking through the speakers, and then he grins, settling in to push the limits on the car.  He hits the highway and just lets loose, windows down and music blaring as he darts in and out of lanes until he’s taking the exit that will lead him to Home Depot.  He slows as he’s reaching the parking lot, spotting a police car, and so he’s careful as he parks.

 

He’s on his way into the store when his phone starts ringing, letting out an obnoxious wailing, and he sighs, fishing it out and answering, “Deadpool.”

 

“Mercenary for hire?” comes the obvious question.

 

Wade sighs again, palming his face, and he can’t believe he’s about to do this, but he says, “Not happenin’ right now.  Referral?”

 

“I called _you_ specifically,” a distinctly male voice says, though he sounds frightened.

 

“Duly noted,” Wade says as he grabs a flatbed on his way into the outdoor section, “Again, referral?”

 

“I refuse to accept anyone else.  I’ll pay upfront.”

 

“How much?” Wade asks because he’s curious.

 

“75k.”

 

“Shit balls,” Wade mutters, “Where and how long?”

 

There’s a pause, and then, “What?”

 

“Okay, so you’re new,” Wade says, reaching up to fidget with his hat, “Where is the target?”

 

“I—I was told you were a New York local.”

 

Wade stops immediately, pulling back his phone to look at the number.  It’s blocked, and though he’s used to that, he’s never had someone call knowing more about him than he knew about them in the first minute.  “Who the fuck are you?” he demands.

 

“I thought we didn’t—we didn’t exchange names.”

 

“What do you know about me?”

 

“Just that, I swear.  Your name and residence.  I—”

 

“What name?  Specify.”

 

“Deadpool.  Please, I need help.”

 

“Jesus,” Wade mutters, shaking his head, “Who told you about me?”

 

“He asked to remain anonymous.  It’s in Jersey, and as soon as possible.”

 

Wade considers it, walking again as he starts browsing the plants.  Finally, he says, “Call me back in fifteen minutes exactly,” before he hangs up, and then he thumbs over into his contacts and dials Peter.

 

He gets distracted by some hanging plants as he waits for him to answer, and when he does, he’s trying to be quiet.  “I can’t talk,” he whispers, “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yes and no.  I just got a job, haven’t said yay or nay yet.”

 

“Wade,” Peter sighs.

 

“75.”

 

“ _Thousand_?” Peter says, voice rising a little.

 

“That’s extended vacation right there, spidey,” Wade says, “Off the grid for a year at least, probably more.  I miss you so much, Peter, but this could set us up for a while.  Couple days, get it done, and then I’m back to you for a long fuckin’ time, if you’ll have me, sweetums.”

 

“I like sweetums,” Peter says, and he can almost hear his smile, “No more than a week?”

 

“It’s nearby.  No more, I promise.  I’m sick of dropping out every couple months, I want to be with you.”

 

Peter’s quiet for a few moments before he says, “Okay.  Will I see you before then?”

 

“Probably not, if it’s to be done quickly.  That okay?”

 

“I guess,” Peter says, “Please be careful.  Come home to me.”

 

“Always, darling.  I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

They hang up, and Wade goes back to plant shopping.  He’s got three when his phone rings again, and he answers, “Deadpool.”

 

“Well?” the same male voice says.

 

“Send me a file, and I’ll head out in a few hours.”

 

“A file?”

 

“Okay, fuckwad, next time you’re asking someone to dick around and kill whoever you pissed off, learn how to fuckin’ do it.  Profile, coordinates, the works.  Talk dirty to me.  Send it to this number, and don’t fuckin’ call me again.”

 

He hangs up, shuts his phone off, and spends the next two hours plant shopping.

 

——

 

When Peter gets home that night, it’s quite the event.  Daniel stops him in the hallway to ask if everything’s alright, and when he just nods in confusion, Daniel explains his encounter with Wade, and Peter sighs and does his best to explain Wade, but then stops halfway and says, “You know, it’s—not to be rude, but it’s really none of anyone’s business.  He’s my boyfriend, and sometimes he’s an asshole, but so is most of the world.  I love him, and that’s all that matters, and I’m sorry that you and he got off on the wrong foot, but he’s fairly intuitive, and he may have seen something he was wary of.  I’m sorry.”

 

He leaves Daniel looking baffled as he hurries up the stairs, though he slows when he reaches his floor and there’s a note on the door.  He takes it off, unfolding it, and he smiles as he reads it, _I miss you like crazy cakes, sweet cheeks.  I hope this makes up for it a little bit._

Peter lets himself in, flipping on the lights, and he’s a little shell shocked.  The small shelving unit next to the kitchen cabinets has been stocked with alcohol, expensive from the looks of it.  There’s a hammock strung up near the left side of the loft, which has been decked out in beautiful plants, some hanging, some in pots, all neatly arranged.  There’s a note on the fridge that reads, _dinner inside, homemade and not poisoned_.  Peter opens it up to check—lasagna.  He may need to sit down if the surprises keep coming.

 

He goes up into the loft to check, and the bed has been made, Florence sleeping peacefully in the center of it.  A new assortment of games sits at the foot of it, and he goes over, flicking through, his grin spreading.  All of his laundry has been done, as well, folded and put away, and there is outdoor furniture on the terrace.  He goes out, fingers tracing over the small table and chairs, and when he goes back inside, he thinks he might burst, his face aches from smiling.

 

“Damn it, Wade,” he murmurs.  He can’t believe how lucky he is sometimes.

 

He texts him as he’s heating up the lasagna, _did you really make this?_

He’s just sitting with it when he gets a response, _nanny helped, the lander’s grandmother.  She’s such a sweetheart, and she called me handsome!  I like her lots._

_How’s the job?_

  1. _Can’t talk.  Call later._



Peter sighs and tucks into his lasagna, which is amazing, and then he goes to shower before he’s dumping onto the futon and trying out one of the new games, _Outlast_.  He ends up quitting a few minutes in because it’s terrifying as fuck and playing with Wade is a necessity, so he decides to put on a movie and pass out early.  He pulls Florence against him, kissing her before he pets her, and he falls asleep to the sound of her purring.

 

——

 

Peter feels like he should have seen it coming.  Wade’s been gone two days when chaos hits, an army of Skrull descending on New York like no other they’ve ever seen, and Peter’s called to the Avengers’ aid.  He tries calling Wade, but it goes to voicemail every time, and he only leaves one frantic message before he’s calling Johnny, and they’re suiting up.

 

It’s a four-day affair.  By the end of it, Peter’s barely slept for more than six hours in total, his body is mottled with dark, violent bruises, and he just wants to go home.  Currently, he’s sitting in the med bay of the Tower, being poked and prodded until he’s starting to nod off while they’re taking a blood sample.

 

“Hey Peter,” Bruce says as he comes in, “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like shit,” Peter mumbles, shrugging one shoulder, “You?”

 

“I’ve had worse,” Bruce says, “Four cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder.  Not so bad.”  Peter tries to laugh, but it hurts to move too much, and he just ends up groaning.  “I was curious.”

 

“He’s on a job,” Peter says, lifting a hand, “I know what you’re all wondering, okay, but he hasn’t fucked off cos he’s mad at the team.  He is, granted, but he’s not being an asshole.  I haven’t been able to get in contact with him.  Anything else?”

 

Bruce sighs.  “Do you need a ride back to your place?”

 

He starts to answer in the affirmative when his phone starts ringing, and he grunts, “Hold that thought,” before he webs it over to him, letting out a heavy breath when he sees Wade’s picture.  “What the hell?” he says by way of answering.

 

“I’m sorry,” Wade murmurs, “I fucked up.  It was so not what I was expecting.  Walked right into a fuckin’ ambush, but it’s settled.  I saw the news.  Are you at the Tower?”

 

“Can you come get me?”

 

“I’m, uh—missing a couple things.”

 

“Are you bleeding all over our brand new bathroom, assface?”

 

“Listen, it’s not my fault.  Also, it’s just the terrace.  The bathroom’s too fuckin’ far away.”

 

“What?” Peter asks, lifting a hand to scrub at his hair.

 

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Wade tries to joke.

 

“Arm or leg?”

 

“Fuckin’ leg.  Itches like a bitch.  I’ll be good by the time you get back.  It’s still there, just mangled.”

 

“Okay, gross.  I’m on my way home.  Stay conscious, yeah?”

 

“Come play doctor,” Wade says before the line goes dead.

 

“A ride would be fantastic,” Peter says, and Bruce just nods and goes to find someone.  Peter dozes most of the way home until they’re on the street over from his, and he fishes out his phone, dialing Wade, who grunts by way of answering.  “How’s your leg?”

 

“In one piece.”

 

“Come help me upstairs.  I’m a fuckin’ mess, man.”

 

“Gimpy!” Wade exclaims and then hangs up.

 

“Thanks,” Peter says when the agent pulls up in front of his building.

 

He gets out and hobbles over, groaning as he approaches the small set of stairs.  Daniel is checking his mail when he gets in, and he does a double take when he sees Peter, gaping.  “Peter,” he gasps, “What happened?”

 

“Mm, fight,” Peter manages to say, sagging back against the wall, head tipping back, “Don’t worry, m’fine.  Had worse.”

 

“Jesus fuck,” Wade’s voice drifts down to him, “You look like shit.”

 

Peter opens his eyes and laughs.  “So do you,” he says, grinning tiredly, “I thought you said just your leg.”

 

“The fuck else is missing?” Wade whines, hands patting over his body.

 

“Fuckin’ ear, man.  That’s gonna itch like a bitch, too.”  He holds out his arms, and Wade comes over, looping one over his shoulders, his arm curling around Peter’s waist.

 

“So Skrulls?”

 

“Fuckin’ _Skrulls_ ,” Peter groans, leaning into Wade, “How was the job?”

 

They make their way slowly over to the stairs as Wade says, “Ass balls long and dirty as horseshit, but it’s over, and I got the 75.”

 

“Thank god,” Peter murmurs, whining when they start taking the stairs, “I think my ribs are bruised.  Oh fuck, this hurts.”

 

“Piggy back?” Wade asks, but Peter shakes his head.

 

“Nah, you’re still healing, I’m fine.”

 

“Primo bitch night?”

 

“Probably,” Peter laughs, “What day is it?  Do I have to work tomorrow?”

 

“Already called in sick,” Wade says, “Sleepy day, formal request, except I might have a concussion.’

 

“You’ll get over it,” Peter mumbles, and Wade just laughs loudly and presses a kiss to his hair.

 

_A one-track mind, you can’t be saved._

_Cos baby your love is all you crave._

_If there’s some left, left for you,_

_Then you don’t mind if you do._

 

A week later, after most of their injuries have healed, they go out for the Mexican dinner date they never got a chance to.  It’s a hot night, so Peter dresses in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and he’s just lacing on his high tops, yelling for Wade to hurry up, when he looks over at the loft and sees him.  He’s wearing jeans, as usual, but he’s also in a t-shirt, his head bare of his typical baseball cap.

 

“Hey,” Peter says as he grabs a sweatshirt, pauses by Florence to kiss her, and then climbs down the ladder, “No hat?”

 

“No,” Wade says, lifting a hand to scrub over his bald head.

 

Peter smiles widely, coming over and lifting up to kiss his forehead.  “Good,” he says, hands curling around his head, “Then I can see you.”

 

Wade starts to look away, but Peter steps in close, kisses his jaw so that he holds his gaze, and then he kisses his mouth, and Wade lets himself get a little lost in him.  His hands press in against his lower back as Peter kisses him, grounds him, lets him know he’s loved.  When he pulls back, Peter’s grinning, and Wade just gives his ass a slap, kisses him lightning quick, and goes to get his shoes.  He shrugs into his sweatshirt on their way down the stairs, and when he’s done, Peter takes his hand, lacing their fingers together as he continues to chatter on about this article he read the other day.  Wade listens to him, content to be the quiet one for a bit.  He loves Peter’s voice, loves when he gets excited, and so they take their time leaving the building.

 

They take Wade’s bike to the restaurant, Peter’s hands tucked into his pockets, his breath warm against Wade’s neck, and he can’t remember the last time he felt this happy to just _be_.

 

When they’re sat, at a table outside with a gorgeous view of the sun setting on the ocean, Wade takes off his sweatshirt, rubbing nervously at one of his arms until Peter extends a hand, attention fixed on his menu, and Wade smiles, taking it.  Peter rubs a thumb over his scarred skin, and then leans forward, lifting Wade’s hand to kiss his knuckles.  “I love you,” he says, smiling brightly.

 

“I know,” Wade says, matching his smile, “I love you, too.”

 

Peter waits until they’ve ordered before he asks, “So, porn.”

 

“Spidey, are you askin’ for it?” Wade asks, grinning.

 

“I am three hundred percent asking for it.”

 

“Porn is a very lucrative business, spidey, don’t even get me started.  You got them cocks and them pussies and them dicks, and it’s just bing bang boom, all aboard the fuck train.  Porn is the future of the internet, webhead.  It’s where all them little’uns are gone find their whack off spots, and _shit_ , we should watch porn together one time, can you even imagine how hot that’d be?  Betcha I’m in one, _whoops_ , slidin’ in, come right out of the womb screaming, _give me balls_!  I don’t even like balls, spidey, they’re so fuckin’ borin’, just sittin’ there, not doin’ nothing but giving life to all the little swimmies, but I like yours, they’re nice, but hey— _hey_.  We’re not talking about that right now because internet porn is a serious offense, spidey.  It’s worse than illegal piracy, which is just a conundrum in itself because _hey-o_ , let’s steal a butthole!  Oh em gee, don’t let’s not!  I don’t do noncon, webhead, and I don’t understand all them freaky deaky sites that got them panties in a twist, clickin’ on the crazies and whackin’ off to all the weirds.  They about as bad as little’uns being blown to fuckin’ _bits_ , spidey, _bits_.”

 

“Our waitress is coming,” Peter warns, and Wade filters off, humming to himself.

 

Their food is laid out, and as soon as their waitress is gone, Wade picks right up again, “Genocide is a nasty business, hasty hobbit, and you best be wonderin’ about it when step out your door, yes, sir.  Lookin’ at the news every day, I’m always wonderin’ what the hell’s going on, what the hell’s the world’s up to now, why they be smashin’ little boys and little girls and little peoples all to bits, fuckin’ _bits_ , spidey.  I don’t like them bits, why would you like bits?  I’m not Hannibal, no fuckin’ way, though he’s a sexy mothafucka, and I know I done said this before, but I love cannibalism, baby boy, I fuckin’ love it, wanna eat all them psychos up and lick their bones, but that might be genocide, too, so watch out.  And like, why does Hitler do the things he do?  I don’t even get it.  Jews are fun, Jews are nice, Jews make the sun come out or some shit, and I like the sun, so why we gone get rid of them?  Ain’t makin’ no sense, no siree.  And what’s up with the Chinese, man?  Fuck _them_.  Fuck them in the worst places possible, in their fuckin’ noses and some shit.  Fuck them so hard they be screamin’ to get out of Tibet cos that’s fucked up, appropriatin’ their culture and some shit, about as bad as America, fuckin’ _America_ , tryin’ to take over the Natives until they don’t even know which way’s up and which way’s down, and it’s like Hades in the sky, Judas in the ground, _shit_.  I meant Jesus, now I’m gonna burn in hell, gone mixin’ Judas and Jesus up, that’s blasphemy, right?  That’s fucked up, yeah?  I think so.  Oh hell, I don’t know what I’m gone do now, spidey, I’m gonna end up in fuckin’ Dorne, burnin’ my ass into a hole.”

 

“I think you’re already going to hell,” Peter says as he loads up a fajita.

 

Wade makes an obnoxious pterodactyl sound, Peter snorts and almost ends up choking, and then Wade steals one of his peppers and says, “Peppers taste like shit,” before he eats it.  He makes gagging noises while he’s eating it even as Peter rolls his eyes.

 

“You like peppers,” he says.

 

“Oh fuck, that’s right!”  He starts chewing happily, and Peter just bursts into laughter, sinking back into his seat.  “Daddy never liked peppers,” he goes on, “Used to say they made him think about dicks, and then his hand was on mine, and _whoops_ , child abuse, but hey, you know, we don’t talk about them shits and giggles, right?  Right.  But peppers, spidey, they about as good as mangos, which is just about God’s given fruit, you know?  I love mangos so much, man, I love them like I love sunrises, which we should do, spidey, just stay up all night and watch the sun come up.  Mangos are so juicy and yummy, though, be bitin’ in and _bam_ , overflowin’ with the gorgeous little squish.  Them little Asians know what’s up puttin’ it with rice, fuckin’ best little dessert in the entire freakin’ _world_.  Are you supposed to eat the skin?  Sometimes I eat the skin of my enemies, holy _shit_ , this taco.”

 

Wade’s eyes roll back as he takes a big bite, chewing obnoxiously until Peter kicks him under the table.  “Don’t be an ass,” he says, and Wade opens his mouth wide.  “How is it even possible you’re my boyfriend?” Peter groans.

 

“Petey—”

 

“ _No_.”

 

“Spidey, we done missed our anniversary.”

 

“Did we?  I don’t know when it is,” Peter admits, and Wade cackles.

 

“Me either, I just knew it was a summer month.  Let’s!  _Let’s_.  Let’s pretend it’s tonight.  Four years, sweetums.”

 

“Cheers to us,” Peter says, lifting his glass.  After they’ve each taken long pulls of their beer, Peter slaps the table and says, “We should celebrate.”

 

“How?”

  
“Let’s get high.”

 

“Ohhhh my gooooood,” Wade says, drawing the words out until he’s just staring at Peter, “I bet you’re a fuckin’ blast when you’re high.  You gone freak out when you see how mellow the Deadpool gets, yo.”

 

“Mellow?  I think that sounds fun, _actually_ ,” Peter says, “Hey, what about bees?”

 

“No, don’t even, bees are fuckin’ awesome, bees just putter around, pollinating and going buzz buzz, and I love bees, bees are so fuckin’ cute, but fuck _wasps_ , man, fuck them hardcore, I hate those little shits.  You know what else I hate?  Beetles, especially the flying ones.”

 

Peter keeps eating while Wade rants about the different types of beetles he hates, but then he gets to talking about worms and how much he loves them and how he used to walk around with them in his pockets, which were filled with dirt, when he was little.  They spend a couple hours at the restaurant, drinking and eating and talking, Peter laughing as Wade keeps rambling on and on until Wade’s antagonizing him to join him in a debate on the big bang because Wade’s pretending to believe in God for the sake of the argument, and Peter gets heated up enough about how science has proof of it that he starts throwing things at him, and then their waitress is sighing, so they pay and leave.

 

“It’s nice out,” Peter says, grabbing Wade’s hand and steering him away from the parking lot where his bike is, “Let’s walk somewhere.”

 

“Oh, I hope there’s a park nearby, I wanna jump off some swings,” Wade says, giving Peter’s hand a squeeze before he pulls him over, smiling when Peter just tips his head up, waiting.  Wade kisses him softly, and he’s grinning when they part, walking down the sidewalk.

 

There’s a park nearby, and Wade immediately takes off running when they approach it.  Peter laughs and follows him, climbing on the play structure while Wade swings as high as he can and then throws himself off, soaring through the air with a wild cry.  They spend some time running around after that, Wade chasing Peter around until he grabs him around the middle and they collapse against one of the barred walls, sliding down onto the floor.  They’re up high, near one of the slides, and Peter sags back against Wade, giggling as Wade laughs into his neck.

 

“You’re such a doofus,” Peter mumbles, stretching before he picks himself up and drops back down, legs spread and knees on either side of Wade’s thighs.  “Gimme a kiss.”

 

“With a fist?” Wade asks even as he leans forward.

 

Peter kisses him, and he means for it to just be a quick thing, but Wade holds him there, licking into his mouth and swallowing down Peter’s gasp.  They kiss until Peter pulls away, breathing hard.  “Wade,” he murmurs, one hand braced against his chest and the other curled around his shoulder.

 

Wade licks his lips, gaze flickering over Peter before he returns it to his face and says, “Let me fuck you?”

 

“ _No_!” Peter exclaims, starting to push away from him, “Jesus, Wade, we’re in public.”

 

“There’s no one around,” Wade says, pulling Peter back toward him, hands sliding down to slip into the back pockets of his jeans, squeezing his ass, “Come on, just be quiet, and no one will ever know.”

 

“I am _not_ having sex with you in a _children’s playground_ ,” Peter snaps even as he settles back in his lap again, hands coming up to curl around his head, tipping it back so he can kiss him again.  Wade takes the small opening and darts one of his hands around to undo Peter’s shorts.  “Wade,” he hisses, jerking back.

 

“This isn’t sex,” Wade murmurs, pulling them open and twisting a hand under so he can free Peter’s half hard cock.

 

“Not a fucking chance,” Peter says, smacking his chest, “Wade, serious fucking offense.  I am not going to get caught with my dick out in a playground.  It’s—fuck,” he breaks off in a soft moan as Wade presses a thumb over the head, fingers squeezing tightly.

 

“What’s that again?” Wade practically purrs, leaning forward to kiss his jaw.  Peter tries to speak, and Wade jerks him quickly, pulling a strangled moan out of Peter as he presses closer to him.  “Tell me what you want, baby boy,” Wade whispers, mouthing down his throat.

 

“Don’t—fuck, don’t stop,” Peter says, and Wade just grins and gives him a shove so Peter ends up on his back.

 

He starts to push down his shorts as Wade undoes the button on his jeans, and then a light flashes nearby and someone calls out, “Hey!  What are you doing up there?”

 

“Shit fuck balls,” Peter gasps, hips pushing up off the play structure as he yanks his shorts back up.  Wade snorts as he fumbles, and then grabs Peter’s ankles just as he’s getting his shorts over his ass, and he yanks him around and then gives him a shove down the slide.

 

Peter shrieks as Wade cackles and follows him, jumping off before he hits him at the end of the slide.  “Come on, sweet cheeks!” he screams, tugging on his hair.

 

Peter flips over, landing on his feet, and he fumbles to button up his shorts as he starts running, chasing Wade into the darkness.  He tackles him when they’re on the grass, and Wade tumbles to the ground even as Peter deftly darts up and away.  Wade rolls over and jumps to his feet, following him, and when they finally get back to the restaurant, they’re both laughing loudly and out of breath.

 

“Hot damn, spidey, you fast,” Wade says, leaning against a wall, “I thought for sure you was goin’ to jail.”

 

“I hate you,” Peter mutters, punching him in the chest before stepping in close and leaning up to kiss him.  Wade hums and winds his arms around him, holding him against him.

 

Eventually, they find Wade’s bike and head back to the apartment.  Upstairs, Peter reveals he’s actually got a stash of marijuana, and Wade shrieks with delight, grabbing him around the middle and throwing them onto their bed.

 

“Open the windows,” Peter says as he rolls over onto his stomach and starts rolling a blunt.

 

Wade actually goes to do as he’s told, and, before long, they’re well on their way to being high, shoulders pressed together as they chatter back and forth.

 

“Hey,” Peter mumbles, flailing out a hand and smacking Wade, “Hey, I have a secret.”

 

“Oh, I like secrets, I like all the secrets, spidey, you should tell me your secrets because secrets are no fun unless you share, right?  Right,” Wade says, looking over at him, “Tell me your secrets.”

 

“There’s this—wait, _wait_ ,” Peter says, turning his head so he can see Wade, “Wait.  You have to promise you won’t tell my boyfriend.”

 

“Cross my heart,” Wade says, drawing his finger in an x over his chest, “And hope to pretend to die, here we go.”

 

“There’s this— _wait_.”

 

“Spidey, tell me the secrets!” Wade whines.

 

“You didn’t promise, you have to promise, you can’t tell my boyfriend because then he’ll get mad and try to kill people, and I just can’t have it, okay, because I like my job sometimes, and I don’t want to have to look for a new one, and—”

 

“Jameson cannot have your dick!” Wade exclaims.

 

“It’s not _Jameson_ , that’s gross, Wade.  It’s one of the—one of the other journalists peoples.  He keeps slappin’ my ass, trying to be all, hey man, go team go, but he keeps cuppin’ and squeezin’, you know, like, like, like my boyfriend does, and he—oh no, _you’re_ my boyfriend.”

 

“I _am_?  Oh my god, you shouldn’t have told me that, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—” Wade hiccups as he’s trying to get up, and then just falls back down.  “You know,” he says somberly, “When I was a wee little pipsqueak, before the origin story, Petey, I was—my daddy—oh shit, gimme that.”  He takes a pull on the blunt and then continues, “He used to—to try to choke me every darn time I hiccupped, just shovin’ his hand around my throat, givin’ me a good shake, tellin’ me I wasn’t allowed to breathe if I couldn’t do it properly.”

 

“Don’t fib,” Peter mumbles, squirming over so he can snuggle against Wade.

 

“I ain’t fibbin’, spidey,” Wade says softly, kissing his forehead, “Mama done said fibbin’s for fools, so I ain’t never done it.  The first time I ever did, she smashed a plate over my head, just like the song, and I hadda get stitches in my head, spidey, in my _head_.  Hurt like a motherfucker, but I ain’t never a motherfucker, I ain’t even a daddyfucker, but sometimes, sometimes, spidey, whoops there goes the hand, and sometimes I just gone hide in the closet, pretend I wasn’t there cos you know, _you know_ , I was always scared out of my shits of my dad with his fuckin’ belt, whistlin’ through the air, showin’ me what’s what.  When— _when_ I dog gone told them I was gay, they just about skinned me alive, webhead.  I ain’t never seen them get together other than to fuck and fight, but here they was, daddy’s belt and mommy’s favorite glass, and they gone and beat me til I was bruised and bloody and ugly as _shit_.”

 

“Wade,” Peter interrupts, pushing off his chest and looking down at him, “Are you—shit, I’m dizzy.”  He slumps back down, falls quiet, and then remembers his point, and says, “Are you saying that—shit, that all those stories were—”

 

“Truth as the day the goats went yodelin’.  Everyone always likes the origin story better, though.  I was a normal baby for thirty seconds, and then ninjas stole my mama!  And mama done said, _Wade, you the fuckin’ devil reincarnate, and Ima show you what we true believers do to sinners_ , and then she took me out back and taught me about stonin’.  Ha, stonin’.  I’m _stoned_.”

 

“Me too,” Peter says, yawning, “Hungry.”

 

“Sleep time,” Wade shushes him, “Food later.”

 

Peter just murmurs quietly and closes his eyes.

 

——

 

Peter’s been up for an hour before he starts pacing.  He doesn’t know what to do, and so, on his second pass through the kitchen, he grabs his phone and dials Johnny.  He answers on the third ring, “Dude, the fuck time is it?”

 

“Early, I know, I’m sorry,” Peter says, “I need your help, man, I’m freaking out.”

 

“About what?” Johnny says, his words slurring together as he yawns.

 

“Okay, preface, I need you to not be a dickhead right now.  It’s about Wade, and I know you two have been kind of getting along lately, but can you just—put everything in the past and help me figure this out?”

 

Johnny is quiet for a moment, and then, “Let me piss first, okay?”

 

Peter keeps pacing until Johnny returns, and then he needs to put his hands to work, so he starts making breakfast.  “What’s up?” Johnny says.

 

“Okay, it’s like this,” Peter says, trying to keep his voice down.  He checks over his shoulder to make sure Wade is still sleeping before he says, “Wade was abused as a child.”

“Kind of figured that one out already, Petey,” Johnny mumbles.

 

“Yeah, me too, but it’s worse than I’d originally thought.  Every story he’s told me, every fuckin’ mama done said rant and everything about his dad, and—and I thought it was all just _him_ , you know?  Nothing serious, just Wade going on and on about whatever, but then we got high last night, and I think he told me that it was all real, that he’d been—he’d been _sexually abused_ ,” Peter’s voice drops down into a whisper, “by his father, and that they used to team up and beat him, that one time his mom stoned him because she thought he was sinning against God, and there was that thing about the mirrors and his dad belting him and all this shit, Johnny, and I think it’s all true.”

 

“Fuck,” Johnny says.

 

Peter sucks in a breath as his eyes get hot, tears welling, and he bites his lip to try to force them away.  “How did I never see this?” he whispers, lifting a hand to his mouth, “How did I never see that he was telling me all along?  How did I just let it slide every time?”

 

“You thought he was just ranting,” Johnny says, “So did we all.  I never thought he was being serious whenever he did one of those.  I mean, sure, from the way he acts, I thought either there was mental illness in his family or that he’d been beat as a kid, but never that shit.  Jesus, Peter, that’s bad.”

 

“What do I do?” he says, looking over his shoulder again, “Do I talk to him about it?”

 

“You said you were high?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Can he even get high?”

 

“Johnny, he’s never talked about it like this before.  It’s always in the middle of something else, but this time it was just—it was all of it all at once, and I think he was being honest, I think he’s always been honest.  How the fuck did I ignore this?  What is _wrong_ with me that I couldn’t see this?  How can he ever trust me again if I never—oh god, Johnny, I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Stop fuckin’ whisperin’ about it and get your ass up here,” Wade’s voice drifts out from the loft.

 

Peter spins around, but Wade’s still lying there.  “Shit,” he says.

 

“He’s awake, isn’t he?  Fucking ninja,” Johnny mutters, “Call me later, if you need to.”

 

He hangs up, and Peter does the same before slowly making his way over to the ladder and climbing up.  He sits on the edge of the bed, playing with the hem of his shirt until Wade sighs and rolls over, grabbing his hand and kissing his fingers.  “Stop freaking out, assholate,” he says.

 

“Wade—”

 

“No, stop,” Wade cuts him off, tugging at him until Peter lies next to him, “I never thought you were gonna believe me, spidey, don’t start frettin’ that you were supposed to be payin’ attention now.  Me and you, we’re good, snookums.”

 

“Wrong one,” Peter murmurs.

 

“Sweetums,” Wade corrects, smiling, “I’m over and done with it, water under the bridge, you know?  Made up the boxes, and they done helped me through, except now they’re pissed off that I said they’re not real.  Fuck off,” he mutters.

 

“I should have asked you about it,” Peter says, “I should have—”

 

“Not a fuckin’ chance,” Wade says, “If you’d asked me about it, I woulda run for the hills, you can be sure of that.  You were the first person to just let it happen and take me and the boxes as we were, never once questioned it, and that’s why I fell in love with you, _Petey_.”

 

Peter groans.  “ _Stop_.  It’s so obnoxious.”

 

“Betcha Harry called you that when you were wee ones.”

 

“Pete, actually,” Peter says.

 

“Aw shit, that’s lame, I like Petey better,” Wade says, so Peter hides his face in his chest, whining.  When he’s finished, Wade kisses his cheek and says, “We better, webhead?”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asks, pulling back so he can see him.

 

“Not now, not ever.  I just gotta rant about it sometimes, you know?  Remind myself that it actually fuckin’ happened.  You just keep payin’ attention to the other parts, and we’ll be square.”

 

Peter sighs but nods, and so Wade kisses him and then says, “Breakfast?”

 

“Pancakes,” Peter says, and Wade goes off on a tangent about why chocolate chips are leagues better than bananas.

 

_The lights are on, but you’re not home._

_Your will is not your own._

_Your heart sweats, your teeth grind,_

_Another kiss, and you’ll be mine._

 

Peter wakes to the sound of Wade singing, his voice drifting softly through the apartment, mingling with Florence Welch’s and the delightful smell of a large breakfast.  He doesn’t have an amazing voice, but it’s always low-pitched and smooth, like he should be singing with saxophones and a lazy drum, and Peter loves listening to him.

 

He stretches languidly as Wade lifts his volume a little, “I was sinking, and now I’m sunk.  I was drinking, and now I’m drunk.  Your songs remind me of swimming, but somehow I forgot.”

 

Peter rolls over so he can see him, reaching for his glasses and shoving them on.  They never bothered getting an actual bed, so their mattress is on the floor, but it provides a more direct view of Wade.  He’s wearing one of Peter’s shirts, a white v-neck that hangs loosely around him and shows off the line of his shoulders.  The only time Peter ever gets to appreciate Wade’s physique, he’s either half asleep or too blissed out to be coherent, and so he takes a moment now, watching the way he moves around the kitchen, muscles in his arms shifting as he cooks.  He’s only wearing boxers, too, so Peter can see his legs, and he pillows his head on his arms, staring.

 

“Pull me out the water, cold and blue.  I open my eyes, and I see that’s it you, so I dive straight back in the ocean, so I dive straight back in the ocean.  Take a deep breath, suck the water in my chest!  Take a deep breath, suck the water in my chest!  Cross my fingers, and hope for the best.  You awake, webhead?”

 

“Enjoying the view,” Peter mumbles.

 

Wade gives him a little shake, and Peter laughs.  He makes a soft noise when Wade doesn’t keep singing, so he picks up again, “Then all of a sudden, I heard a note.  It started in my chest and ended in my throat.  Then I realized, then I realized, then I realized, I was swimming.”

 

Peter stretches again, rolling onto his back as Florence comes padding in from the terrace, meowing.  “Hey baby,” he coos, and she hurries over to him, licking his face.  He laughs and scratches her between the ears before sitting up.

 

It’s Saturday, so he doesn’t have work, and it’s the second weekend of September, so he has a long weekend.  It’s been amazing having Wade home for so long, and he hopes it stays this way for a while.  He loves waking up to him, loves even more being able to fall asleep to him, and this unlimited time in between is just incredible.  They fight, sure, but half the fun is getting a rise out of each other and seeing how it all unfolds because Peter isn’t sure there’s anything that could actually get to them anymore.

 

An idea occurs to him as the song changes, and Wade keeps singing, “When we first came here, we were cold, and we were clear, with no colors in our skin, we were light and paper thin.”

 

Peter leaves Florence fighting with the blankets as he goes over to one of his desks.  This one is next to the futon, and another two are in his lab, though this one is mainly for photography, and he grabs his camera, checking that it’s loaded with film before he tiptoes over to the loft, dropping down so his legs are hanging off.  He catches him just finishing, about to turn, this moment of stillness, facing the stove, his back to Peter, the sunlight filtering in, and it’s beautiful.

 

Peter quickly hides the camera behind him as Wade turns, and he points the skillet at Peter before divvying up the eggs on two plates.  “Don’t hide,” Wade says, and then continues singing, “Say my name, and every color illuminates.  We are shining, and we will never be afraid again.”

 

Peter decides to take a chance, then, and so he hops off the loft, coming over to sit at the island with his camera.  Wade makes an obnoxious face as he’s shifting the aperture, and he snaps it, this crazy face taking up most of the frame.  Wade leaves the music on as he pours them orange juice and sits.

 

“Is this okay?” Peter asks as he sets his camera down.

 

“Will anyone see them?”

 

“Just me.”

 

“Color?”

 

“Black and white.”

 

“Okay.”

 

And so they tuck into breakfast, this lovely spread of food that Peter makes happy noises about that Wade laughs at him for.

 

He catches him mid-laugh once, this open, booming noise, head tipped back, baring his throat, and Peter thinks it will probably be his favorite photo.

 

After breakfast, Peter takes the dishes to the sink slowly, cleaning them off before he loads them into the dishwasher, and he smiles when he hears Wade pick up his camera.  He only takes one before he’s coming around to Peter, his arms sliding around him, one hand sliding up to rest against his stomach, the other tracing circles around his hip, as he kisses words into his skin, “And when we come for you, we’ll be dressed up all in blue, with the ocean in our arms, kiss your eyes, and kiss your palms.

 

Wade’s mouth is hot, leaving trails of fire over Peter’s neck until he’s not moving anymore, head tipped forward, knuckles white where he’s holding onto the counter, and Wade keeps singing, breathing bursting out over Peter’s ear as he traces the shell with his tongue, “And when it’s time to pray, we’ll be dressed up all in grey, with metal on our tongues, and silver in our lungs.”

 

“Wade,” he whispers, and then the hand on his hip is sliding down, fingers rubbing over the hard curve of his cock before Wade’s squeezing lightly just before he bites, teeth scraping over his neck before they sink in at the nape, and Peter gasps.

 

When he releases him, the skin is red and angry looking, a bruise swelling beneath, and Wade kisses it wetly, smirking.  Peter jerks open a draw, and Wade starts laughing when he rifles around until he finds lube.  “Knew I fuckin’ loved you for a reason,” Wade murmurs against his shoulder before he takes the lube from him and starts to step back, but Peter’s fingers tighten around his wrist and hold him there.

 

“No,” he says, lilting forward, “Right here.”

 

“Fuck, Peter,” Wade says, rubbing his dick over his boxers, “Yeah?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Peter groans, pushing into Wade’s hand.

 

Wade just grins, kisses his shoulder, and then slicks his fingers, twisting a hand beneath his boxers because he knows it’ll drive Peter crazy to still be clothed.  He starts to whine at him, but Wade slides a finger inside, and his words fall away in a shattered gasp, hips twitching forward.  He stretches him slowly, taking his time, and it’s enough that Peter shoves him away when he pulls his fingers out and growls, “Fuck this, I wanna see you.”

 

Wade grabs at him, hand sliding back down as he kisses him, pushing lightly at Peter’s entrance as they trip backward, stumbling out of the kitchen and over to the living room.  When Wade’s knees hit the back of the sofa, Peter pulls away, pushes him down, and starts stripping.  “Shit,” Wade groans, quickly shucking off his boxers as Peter pulls off his shirt.

 

“Fucker,” Peter mutters, turning and aiming for the lube.  He webs it over, throws it at Wade, who snaps it open, pouring some into his hand, and he barely has time rub a hand over his cock before Peter’s dropping to his knees on either side of him and lowering himself down, swatting Wade’s hand away as the head of his cock pushes inside.  Peter lets out this low, wrecked moan, head going back as he settles in Wade’s lap, rolling his hips slowly as he adjusts.

 

Wade runs his hands over his thighs, coming up to settle on his hips, and as soon as he’s got purchase, Peter is moving.  He doesn’t waste time, building quickly into a fast, brutal rhythm, fucking himself down onto Wade’s cock until they’re both panting, and Peter presses close, biting Wade’s jaw until he lets his head tip back, and then he’s kissing wetly down his throat.

 

Wade meets him on each thrust, thighs tightening as he jerks up to meet Peter, who lets out this soft, breathy moan every time, but he wants more, he wants to hear him fall apart, and so he shifts, legs sliding wider, back dipping down at an angle until he can move easier, and Peter pulls away from his neck with a gasp, one hand curling around Wade’s shoulder and the other around the back of the sofa.

 

“Wade,” he says, and it comes out like a whine, and he can hear it in his voice, how it’s almost what he wants, but not quite, can feel it in the way he moves, trying to take him deeper, harder, and so Wade’s hands dart up, press against his back, and then he’s flipping them, grinning when Peter grabs onto him.

 

His back hits the sofa as Wade pulls out, waits for Peter’s stuttering whine, and then slams back in, letting out a breath when he shouts, back bowing off the sofa.  “Fuck, Wade,” he says on a harsh exhale, legs coming up.  Wade hooks them over his elbows, knees sliding closer, and Peter’s voice pitches up into a high cry as Wade fucks him, cock passing over his prostate on every thrust until Peter’s shaking, and Wade can’t seem to catch his breath.

 

Peter claws at him, nails scraping over his shoulder until he leans forward, kissing him hard and fast, folding closer to him, and Peter’s moan echoes down his throat as he licks into his mouth and memorizes the taste there, the shape of it.  His nails dig into the back of his neck, and Wade groans, coming up from somewhere low, a deep rumble that pulls a matching noise out of Peter.  He pulls away from him to drop his forehead to Peter’s shoulder, and Peter clings to him, fingers kneading over the back of his neck, his other hand curled over Wade’s bald head, holding onto him, and it’s too much, too much of everything he’s never had, and he breaks.  “Peter,” he whispers, shifting again, his hips slowing a little.

 

Peter pushes at him until he lifts his head.  “What?” he says, hands cupping his jaw, “What’s wrong?”  Wade shakes his head, closing his eyes, smiling when Peter’s thumb rubs over his cheek.  “Wade,” he murmurs, and he intends to say more, but then Wade thrusts into him _hard_ , and he shouts, bowing down toward him.  “Wade,” he says, “ _Wade_.”

 

Wade leans close, kisses him softly, tries to hide the words in his mouth, “I love you.”

 

He tries to pull away quickly, but Peter’s wraps around him, leaves one hand free to push against the sofa, and he tips them over, waiting for Wade to unfold his legs before he pushes off his chest, holding his gaze for a few moments before he kisses him, soft and slow, and says, “I love you, too.”

 

Wade’s breath leaves him like a punch, and he stares as Peter lifts onto his knees, reaching back to pull one of Wade’s legs up so he can hold onto him, and they fall over the edge like this.  Peter’s already close, his whole body wired tight, and he gives Wade a few, slow rolls of his hips before he’s hitching into something faster, something harder, and Wade lets out this beautiful, high moan.

 

He reaches down, fingers curling around Peter’s cock, who whines at the attention, ass fluttering around Wade’s cock as he matches his rhythm.  Peter’s body is a curve, back bending toward Wade’s legs as his thighs shift, giving him momentum to fuck down onto Wade’s cock.  He comes first, fire licking down his spine as Wade cants his hips up, tries to follow Peter as he lifts away from him, and then he’s dropping down, rocking in Wade’s lap as Wade jerks him quickly, thumb pressing over the head of his cock.  His dick throbs in Peter’s ass, surrounded in tight heat, and Peter toes curl as he leans forward, a hand coming down to press against Wade’s shoulder.  Wade pushes off against the sofa, fucks him hard as Peter’s nails bite into his skin.  There’s a low tug in his belly as he rubs his thumb over the head of Peter’s cock, and he comes with Wade’s name on his tongue, hips slamming down to keep Wade inside of him, and Wade shouts as he trips over, trembling.

 

They come down together, struggling to catch their breaths, and it’s Peter that breaks first, his mouth stretching into a wide smile before he leans down, kissing Wade.  “You,” he says when he pulls away, leaning their foreheads together, “I love you so much.”  Wade just winds his arms around Peter and closes his eyes, tries to swallow down whatever is trying to shatter apart inside of him, but then Peter kisses him again and says, “Let it out.”

 

“ _Peter_ ,” he gasps, and then he can’t breathe, but he knows he needs Peter closer, needs to hide in him, and so he moves, sliding out of his ass.  Peter makes a soft noise, but he goes, letting Wade wind them together, legs tangling as he burrows against him, pressing his face into his chest, and Peter holds him, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other rubbing over his back.

 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, kissing his scarred skin, “It’s okay.”

 

He doesn’t know what this is, and he’s furious with himself for not controlling it, but Peter keeps pulling him closer and closer to breaking, and he thinks it’s all of this, everything he never let himself think that he could actually have, and it’s right here, it’s always been right here, and he didn’t fuck it up this time.

 

Wade smiles, exhaling.  He pushes a little until Peter releases his tight hold, and then he reaches up, kissing him.  “I love you,” he says because he doesn’t need to apologize, not when Peter’s looking at him like he’s got the world in his hands, holding it close to him, and Peter just smiles in return and nods.

 

“I know,” he says, and Wade laughs.

 

_Might as well face it,_

_You’re addicted to love_

**Author's Note:**

> Oops. I really intended for this to be longer, I did, and then, _oh_. Things just end sometimes, and I thought this was such an adorable ending. I have so many more ideas, though, and I’ve already started the next one—because gods, I don’t know if I’ll ever be done with these two—so you might actually have another fic to look forward to in the next couple of weeks. I’m about to graduate college—HOLY SHIT—but I’ve finished all my final projects, so I pretty much have the next two weeks free, and really, in reality, I have the next month free because I’m not going back to work until the first of June, but I’ll be with Erin for the next two weeks, and she does most of the convincing of writing and stuff. Like I said, though, I’ve already started the next one, and I have a ton of ideas to go with it, so hopefully you can expect that soon—fingers crossed!
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this! The new Spiderman movie was so amazing, I was freaking out. I cried, I laughed, I gasped, I may have even cackled a little—Peter was _so hilarious_. I was so pleased to see that he’s still a little shit because he’s supposed to be, and it’s so fun when he is. Even at the end, after everything. It was beautiful.
> 
>  _Also_ , I do apologize there was no conflict in this. While I was rereading the first two, I was just so exhausted by all the shit they go through in the second one, and I decided enough was enough, and they should just have a fun fic. The next one will hopefully have some conflict in it—we’ll see, I never know what’s going to happen in these things—though nothing as serious as last time. I dunno, whatever happens happens, and that’s just that. I apologize also if Wade was a little calmer this time around. I don’t know why, but I kept noticing that, that he’d be a little more chilled out at times, and I hope that wasn’t too out of character.
> 
> Okay, I’m going to stop rambling. I intended this note to be short, and then look what happened. Keep an eye out for news on the next fic over at my tumblr, and don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


End file.
